


make me your radio

by Rikku



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikku/pseuds/Rikku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Iroh becomes a rabid pro-bending fan, and Bolin learns to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flameo, Fire Ferrets

Iroh woke with the nightmare still pounding in his heart and his bedding in flames around him.

He was confused for a second, thinking he was still there, still sinking helpless into the deep dark water with his fleet burning to cinders around him and the aircraft raining down death from above. But – no, he was safe, all was well, he was in the same quarters he was always berthed in when he travelled with the Navy, every sharp line and empty corner was familiar to him.

Except for how the bed was on fire.

Iroh cursed and leapt for the wash basin across the room, emptying it hurriedly onto the flames. It wasn’t the first time he’d firebent unintentionally in moments of stress, but this was – a little embarrassing, to tell the truth. He was a grown man. He shouldn’t have been having trouble with night terrors at _all_ , let alone ones that left him shuddering and scared, his hands clenched in useless fists, grasping for allies he was far too late to save. 

His bed was a soggy charred mess. Iroh sighed. Even without the threat of nightmares he doubted he’d manage any more sleep tonight.

He dressed himself, fresh-pressed trousers and white shirt and uniform jacket and shiny boots, and went to wander the deck. It calmed him, the solid feel of metal beneath his feet, the shine of stars too high above to reach. The night air, too, which smelled refreshingly of salt even if it was a little too warm to be dressed as he was. That, he couldn’t help. It was important to be dressed well at all times, to be polite and proper, to set a good example to the men.

Maybe that’s all he was. Some pretty court-born figurehead, not any real sort of commander after all. _So young to be a general_ , people said, and their smirks said what their words didn’t.

Iroh shook his head to clear it and went on with his rounds, head held high, back straight, shame pulsing through his blood like poison.

Until he heard the radio.

“ _… one heck of an opening volley from the Eel Hounds, folks, looks like they’re trying to start the season on the right foot._ ” The noise of the radio came from the mess hall on the floor below him, from the sound of it. It was distant and crackly, disrupted by bursts of static. He ventured closer to the rails, listening. “ _—almost an illegal headshot, but a bit unclear, is the ref going to – no, looks like the ref’s not going to call them out on that, fair enough, tricky call – ohhh, nice bit of firebending from the Eel Hounds! but it won’t help them if they can’t capture some territory, fast. Aaand the Fire Ferrets are still just playing defensively, folks, none of that trademark flare we came to expect from—_ ”

The Fire Ferrets!

Iroh grinned and jumped off the ship, gripping the rail as he fell and swinging so he dropped neatly through the open window into the mess. He rolled and stood.

The crew gathered around the radio were all staring at him. One man’s cigarette fell from his gaping mouth, and he didn’t seem to notice. “G - general Iroh, sir!” he said, and snapped a hasty salute. The other crewmen and women sat bolt upright and followed his lead, looking panicky.

It was a little unpleasant to be the cause of that, the thing that made all the casual camaraderie vanish like smoke. They probably thought this was some kind of test, all of them still staring at him like him being here was something unusual. Which – he supposed it was. He’d been perhaps a little _too_ proper, these past few weeks. Stern, distant.

That at least was easy to fix.

“Who’s winning?” he asked.

“Uh – the Eel Hounds right now, sir,” one of his firebenders said. She had relaxed a little at the question, they all had; still all looking at him like he was bizarre, but the edge of tension had gone.

He scowled. “Ridiculous, the Fire Ferrets can beat them with their hands tied behind their back.” He was greeted with some fervent nods, a few smiles, a few affable boos of disagreement. Better. He sat down with them, as an afterthought rolling up his sleeves so he looked at least a little more at ease. “What round are we—”

The firebender gestured to the radio. “ _\--and that’s round one gone, folks,” the commentator was saying, “and gone firmly to the Eel Hounds. Hopefully the Ferrets can pick up their game this round, or they’ll be out of the tournament before it’s even begun, a pity after all the campaigning they’ve been doing just to get pro-bending back - Round two! Nice opening shot from Ferret earthbender Bolin, good to see they’re playing – oh!_ ” Dimly the sound of the crowd gasping could be heard. “ _And Asha’s knocked back two zones! Great teamwork, Ferrets! But the Hounds waterbender’s not about to take that lying down—_ ”

Iroh glanced around. His crewmembers were all leaning in raptly to listen, wincing and grinning as the game unfolded. It felt warm, somehow, friendly; the commentator spinning this golden bubble of a place far from here with just his words, and the lot of them leaning in close like they could live in it. Camaraderie.

This would be a very awkward time to admit that he had only a vague idea what the rules of pro-bending were. 

But even without knowledge of the game, it was good just to hear how things were going. He received regular military updates from Republic City, of course, he’d be told if anything had happened to Avatar Korra or any of her team – but. But. There was a whole world of difference between knowing that they were probably alive and nothing more than that, and hearing what they were doing right now, right this instant, hale and healthy -

“ _Ouch! Mako takes a disc straight to the stomach, folks, that’s gotta hurt—_ ” 

Well, more or less healthy.

It was … oddly engrossing, actually. Iroh found himself leaning forward with his breath caught in his throat, body humming with adrenaline even though there was no battle to be had. And when the match ended – the Ferrets rallying together for a spectacular third-round knockout, ha! – he cheered and whooped with the rest of his crew, punching the air, all of them laughing together. He even lingered in the mess afterward, to listen to the crackly music on the radio and drink a cup of tea and grin at his crew’s friendly banter.

That was how it started. Looking back Iroh was a little at a loss to explain how it escalated, but there was no doubt it did. Almost overnight he became as eager a pro-bending fan as the people who stopped you on the street to tell you urgently why their team was the very best there was. Worse, possibly. Sometimes he ended meetings early just so he could listen to a match. Once he stopped in the middle of a _fight_ to listen.

… Only a minor fight, to be fair, stopping a small squabble about land rights in one of the outer parts of the Republic, where there had been less intermarriage and some tension remained between the Fire Nation settlers and the original Earth Nation inhabitants. Routine stuff, really. And the old Earth Nation man who’d been being belligerent agreed to be more reasonable, apparently under the grounds that if haughty generals could pause being impressive and intimidating in order to flail delightedly about the Komodo Rhinos’ incredible fourth-round comeback then maybe Fire Nation folks weren’t as bad as all that. Almost like they were real people, in fact.

Iroh’s crew seemed to find the whole thing pretty hilarious, so Iroh was inclined to count it as a victory, overall. He followed orders and gave orders and went about his business, just with the addition of having the warm promise of pro-bending at the end of his day, sitting listening to his friends being excellent. Connected to the world. The crew got used to it, seemed pleased, even, though they still always looked nervous when he shouted angrily at the ref. Which. Was almost every game. 

And late at night he turned on his own little radio, and let the constant hum and crackle of noise lull him to sleep. And when he jerked awake in the middle of the night it was the first thing he heard, it was a lifeline, tethering him to the world. He still had nightmares, of course he did, far too often – but it was easier to deal with them when he could _escape_ , sink into the jazzy swing of music or the jittery excitement of matches. So. That was … also a plus.

Things came to a head the week of the finals, though, which also happened to be when they were attacked by pirates. 

“… So I’m going to take us into port at Republic City,” was what he finished his report of the matter with. 

There was a crackly pause. The special United Forces frequency was clearer than most, but getting a good signal way out here was tricky even so. “Uh,” came Bumi’s voice at last, distorted but still familiar. “Why?”

“Well, we need to lick our wounds,” Iroh said, innocently. It was perfectly true. He himself hadn’t escaped unscathed, a particularly nasty blow connecting with his side – quite bad, but he was one of the worse wounded of his crew, and that soothed the sting considerably. He loved it when battles ended with no casualties, he really did. 

Bumi laughed. “What aren’t you telling me, lad?”

Difficult to lie to someone who’d known you since you were a child. Iroh didn’t bother. “It’s the pro-bending final the day after tomorrow,” he said eagerly, “if we hurry we can make it in time to catch it—”He cleared his throat. “Coincidentally, of course. By accident. Unintentionally. Certainly not the point at all.”

A crackling pause which somehow seemed imbued with scepticism. Then, “That ain’t real _proper_ , princey boy.”

Bumi sounded entirely too pleased by this. He always had been amused about how Iroh stuck to the rules, and buoyantly gleeful whenever he didn’t. It gave Iroh pause, though. Propriety was … important. This was a matter of honour. He should think carefully about his priorities, his duty, the right course of action.

“It’s a _grudge match_ ,” he said, almost pleadingly. Bumi laughed loud and long.

And that was how General Iroh, second-of-that-name, Prince of the Fire Nation and pride of the United Forces, set his mighty flagship on its slow and magnificent course to Republic City just to catch a pro-bending match. 

The crew was every one of them delighted.

 

 

Pro-bending was even better live.

All the inexplicable terms and rules made _sense_ now, the sport itself made sense now on a visceral level it never had before. Because it was beautiful. The roar of the crowd, the flash of fire and shine of water and solid pound of earth, people moving fast and quick and clever - people at the peak of their ability using their amazing skills not to hurt others but to compete, to entertain, for the sheer joy of it. It was so very beautiful.

Also really exciting. Iroh was sitting straight as steel and calm-faced but he was twitching ever so slightly, because it took physical effort not to jump up and shout and wave his arms around like a maniac. The match just got more and more exciting with every second, the tension building. Not entirely unlike war, though with much prettier uniforms.

“ _—and we’re entering the final moments now, folks, the clock’s ticking and it’s still anyone’s match – wowee! Nice bit of waterbending from Avatar Korra, who, by the way, loves to eat Omashu Oatcakes, every bite a delightful dream, buy some today! Nice bit of waterbending from Avatar Korra, but it’s left her wide open to attack, yet to see if the Moose Lions will take advantage of – and yes, they do! Avatar Korra is iiiiiin the driiink in the final round of her team’s championship bout! Will the Fire Ferrets manage to hang on?_ ”

Iroh chewed on a nail anxiously.

“ _Sao’s been training hard, by the looks of it, not seeing any of the slackness that he showed last match. A two-one combo from the Ferret brothers and he’s driven back into Zone Two, with Mako and Bolin still in Zone One – the lions have decided to target Bolin by the looks of things, a solid two, no, three element barrage on Bolin who they’ve clearly decided is the weak point here but he is standing his ground folks, he is standing – his – ground! And – Mako’s fighting, Mako takes the opportunity to strike back and there’s that fireboxing we know and love, almost invented that technique, Mako’s good but is he good enough? Wowzee, folks, this is one humdinger of a match, I haven’t felt this excited since I heard pro-bending was being brought back! I wish I had two sets of eyes so I could see it all WOW.” The crowd went hushed with excitement. “A waterbending sucker punch knocks Mako back, Mako is driven back to Zone Two, I repeat, Mako is in Zone Two! Things aren’t looking too good for the Fire Ferrets today!_ ”

Iroh winced. Mako sprang back to his feet immediately, though, letting off another savage burst of firepunches, neatly dodging an earthbent disc. Bolin was bearing the brunt of the attacks, though, flinging discs in front of him that shattered to pieces under the force of the fire and water, snapping out sturdy attacks whenever he had a chance to. Iroh found his eyes being drawn to him more and more, the sheer solidity of him. He took hits and then just kept _going_. Kept fighting and fighting and fighting, so Iroh wasn’t really surprised when he started getting the edge back, inch by stubborn inch, even as Mako was driven back a zone into the uneasy territory of Zone Three, even as a dirty waterbending shot took Bolin clear in the face. He just … kept on going. Drove the Hounds back into their own territory, and then back another Zone, and then another – 

“ _\--good offensive playing by Bolin there, I’ll say yet again, that boy has grit!! The Hounds are driven back to Zone Three, it’s two-on-two, teaming up on Bolin yet again, but he can handle that – Mako takes advantage of their distraction and deals a punishing blow, and – that is the end of the round, and Shao is iiiin the driiiink! Fire Ferrets had most territory, Fire Ferrets win round four and the championshi—_ ”

“FLAMEO, Fire Ferrets!” Iroh yelled delighted at the top of his voice, punching the air. Fire bloomed from his fist. “… Sorry,” he said to the people sitting near him, and then, “Ow.”

He couldn’t find it in himself to mind, though, even as his injured side gave a reproachful twinge from the unwise motion. Bolin was posing for the cameras, hand on hip, eyelids fluttering, and then Korra was vaulting back into the Arena, slinging an arm around each of the boys and physically lifting them up in a delighted team hug. The crowd was going wild, shouting their pleasure or displeasure about the win; the air was filled with laughter and applause, thousands of people united in this single moment.

Pro-bending was so much better live.

Iroh made his way down to the backstage training area. They were his friends – well, sort of. They were his friends, he had a right to see them. Anyway, no one really complained after he gave them his best I Am A Ferocious General glare, just told him the way and then got out quick. He burst into the locker room and clapped, beaming. The foul-tasting medicine his doctors had forced down his throat was finally taking effect, and he felt pleasantly woozy.

Korra and Mako were off somewhere, probably so they could kiss passionately, so Bolin was the only one there to greet him, sitting on the bench and examining his helmet for dents. “General Iroh!” he said, waving, and Iroh smiled and came over. “Thought I recognised that terrifyingly destructive firebending style,” he said, his grin taking away any sting in the words. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m here to see Korra, actually,” Iroh said, a little apologetically.

Bolin blinked at him, then burst out laughing. “Well I know _that_ ,” he said, sounding fond, “that’s obvious, I’d have to be an idiot not to know that. Er – no offence, General.”

“None taken,” Iroh said dryly.

“You want me to go fetch her?” Bolin said cheerily, but Korra and Mako were entering at last, looking giddy with victory. And also with kissing. 

“That was an amazing match,” Iroh told them all, meaning it.

Korra beamed. “Thank you!” she said, and grabbed his shirt collar to drag him into a hug, too, which led to another big group hug. The Avatar seemed to like those. Iroh was inclined to approve.

“What brings you here?” Korra said, once she’d released them.

“I had business here,” Iroh lied cheerfully, “thought I’d drop by and see how you all were doing.” He smiled at her. “How _are_ you doing, Miss Fully Realised Avatar?”

Korra made a face. “Really bored! I can’t believe that as soon as I finally master all the elements and ya-da-ya-da, I’m not actually allowed to _use_ them.”

Iroh blinked. “Why ever not?”

“Oh, well – I’m _allowed_ , just, I have to be careful and stuff, and seek other solutions first, all that.” She scowled. “We’re all being careful. Apparently benders need to, like, prove that we’re not evil evil oppressors, so we’re all just dialling back the huge impressive feats for a while.”

“Clever,” Iroh said approvingly. It was good they weren’t just ignoring the problem now that Amon had been dealt with. The bending/non-bending conflict in Republic City had caused him a few sleepless nights all on its own, and at its heart it had nothing to do with insane terrorists and everything to do with perfectly normal people trying to live their lives.

Korra looked surprised. “Nah, can’t be,” she said, “Bo thought of it first,” and Bolin pouted at her. She pouted back. The whole thing was entirely adorable. Somewhere along the way Iroh had forgotten how much he liked these people.

“Korra, we’d better be going,” Mako said, “we’ll be late.”

“But it’s Iroh!” Korra said, gesturing at him. “Oh, fine. There’s a party thing,” she explained, “to celebrate pro-brending, I guess we’ll kinda be the stars so we can’t really be late.” She brightened. “You should come!”

Mako made a face but didn’t say anything to contradict the invitation, which Iroh took as approval. Mako wasn’t a very emotional fellow. “I would love to!” Iroh said, “it would be my very great – I mean, it, I’d, a party … sounds …” He trailed off, squinting. “The room’s spinning,” he said, abruptly panicked. His head felt empty, echoing. “Maybe some kind of poison—” He swayed. Actually _swayed_ where he stood, as though he couldn’t balance his way across a speeding aircraft’s wing without even raising a sweat.

Iroh sat down, rather abruptly. 

There was a chorus of concerned “Iroh?”s, which he waved away, feeling like a fool. “I’m fine,” he said, annoyed with himself. “Just under some rather heavy medication.”

Korra grimaced. “Guess the party suggestion’s out, then,” she said.

“But it’d be hilarious,” Bolin said. He stood up and mimed a staggering walk. “Hello miss, I am the brave and dashing General Iroh, you’re so beautiful you’re making me swoon oh wait that’s drugs! Bluuuurgh—”

Iroh glared at him. “You are a horrible person,” he ground out, through clenched teeth.

Bolin stopped immediately. “… Hey, what are you on medication _for_?” he asked curiously.

Iroh cleared his throat. “I … may have perhaps broken a rib,” he said. “… Or two. There were a lot of pirates,” he added defensively.

Mako raised his eyebrows. “You should give pro-bending a try some time,” he said, cool and aloof, “if you can weather hits like that.”

“That’d be unfair to everyone else,” Korra said, grinning. Then she looked guilty. “Not that you’re any less a firebender than Iroh! You’re totally as good.” She tugged Mako closer by the scarf and kissed him apologetically. “You’re the best firebender there is!”

“If you stopped flirting for a minute you could, you know, heal him,” Bolin said, tapping his fingers together sheepishly. “Just a suggestion.”

Korra pulled away from Mako and shook her head regretfully. “Not when he’s got spirits-alone-know-what painkillers swimming in his blood, it’s not worth the risk.” She smiled at Iroh. “How about dropping by Air Temple Island tomorrow? I can heal you up a bit, and you can have lunch with me and the airbenders, get introduced to everyone properly.”

“I would like that very much, Avatar Korra,” Iroh said, and gave a shallow seated bow to be polite. “… Urgh.” He grimaced. His head was swimming unpleasantly now.

“Sleep it off, big guy,” Bolin told him, grinning. He extended his hand in invitation. Iroh paused for a second, then accepted the help; he could probably make it back to the ship on his own, but it was better to be safe. Bolin hauled him up, then, when he swayed, wrapped an arm around him to keep him standing, unasked. The lad could be a little too confident at times. Right now it was helpful, though, so he didn’t protest.

Besides, it felt nice, Bolin was warm and solid and it had been far too long since anyone had -

… And that thought more than anything else meant that, yes, he should get back to the ship post haste before he started slurring incoherently or declaring his undying love for everyone present.

And somehow while he’d been thinking that, time had passed. They were outside now, Bolin chattering cheerfully as they made their way down the street. Iroh tried to concentrate and noticed one crucial fact.

“You’ll miss the party,” he said urgently. It suddenly seemed immensely important.

“The Council didn’t actually invite me, so,” Bolin said, shrugging, then saying, “Whoops!” and helping steady Iroh after the shrug threw him off balance.

“What? Why?”

“I guess it didn’t occur to them,” Bolin said, grinning. “It’s fine, I don’t have any fancy clothes anyway.”

Iroh frowned. He poked Bolin’s face, very seriously, trying to gather enough articulacy to refute that. “It is _not_ fine,” he said firmly. “I don’t think it’s fine at all. I think – oh, look, seats,” and he collapsed onto one and leaned against the wall and sighed contentedly.

“Uh. Iroh? General Iroh sir?” Bolin tugged at his arm. “You can’t go to sleep here.”

Iroh blinked at him wearily. “Why not? It’s comfortable.” He gave a dozy smile. “And maybe nightmares can’t find me here.”

“You need to get back to your ship,” Bolin said gently, trying to pull him up. “What were they _thinking_ letting you out into the city, didn’t your doctors warn you that this would happen?”

“Er. It might possibly have been mentioned. I just - I very much wanted to see the match,” Iroh said, eagerly. “It most certainly lived up to my expectations! I would’ve loved to see a first round knockout, though, you hear such great stories about those I think I’m going to be sick, oh, dear.” He hunched over, grimacing. “… I’m going to be so mortified by all this tomorrow.”

“I’d just like to inform you that seeing you like this is really weird,” Bolin said, bending over so they were face-to-face. He twisted his face into a considering frown, exaggerated like his expressions always were. Iroh laughed, and the frown turned into a sort of hesitant grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Your face,” Iroh said fondly.

“Uh. Okay?” Bolin said. “I was thinking we should probably get some food into you. You’ll never get to the Bay at this rate, something solid in your stomach would ground you a bit. When was the last time you ate?”

“Eating sounds ghastly,” Iroh said severely. “… Yesterday? No, there were the pirates … Day before yesterday. I am very nearly certain. No, it was – honestly, I can’t remember.”

“Wow, your crew take really bad care of you,” Bolin said cheerfully. “Trust me, I know food sounds horrible right now, but it’s a good idea, honest.” He patted his own stomach encouragingly. “Best thing to do when drugs have got you all woozy.”

“How would _you_ know _that_?” Iroh asked.

“I was thinking this Water Tribe food place I know nearby,” Bolin said, and Iroh couldn’t manage to make himself mind that he’d avoided the question. Food _did_ sound good; once he got past the coil of nausea he felt at the idea, he realised he was ravenous. 

After that his memories of the night got a little hazy. He just remembered pieces, here and there; the unfamiliar taste of seaweed juice burning at the back of his throat - it was foul. He drank a whole bottle, and later could not for the life of him figure out why. The sounds and smell of a night market, riotous and joyful. The bulk of his ship rising ahead of them. The stars spinning uneasily as his head swam - but most of all, through it all, the feeling of Bolin’s arm around him, impossibly steady and safe, holding him firm.

That night for the first time in weeks he slept a sleep entirely without nightmares.

Instead he for some reason dreamed of a voice warm with laughter, of eyes green as new spring leaves. Of a strong young body pressed close to his. 

Which was just as troubling, really, but. In an altogether more pleasant way. He’d take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you’re warned, from the looks of it so far this story is almost entirely made of Iroh having angsty internal monologues. So uh. Yeah. Have fun with that. >.> Title from the Gym Class Heroes song Stereo Hearts, and if you happened to want some ambience-establishing music, I'd suggest listening to some electro swing, particularly for the later chapters. Or Puttin' On The Ritz and suchlike songs. Anything swingy with a beat, really.


	2. Love Amongst the Dragons

“Hey, Bo,” Mako said, leaning against the door of Bolin’s room in the Air Temple. “Got you some food on the way back.” He waggled a greasy paper bag at him.

“I ate with Iroh,” Bolin said, not entirely regretfully. He picked up Pabu. “Guess those delicious dumplings are yours now, buddy,” he told him. “Do me proud. _Do me proud_.” He widened his eyes solemnly. “I believe in you.”

Pabu wrinkled his nose and blinked at him. 

Mako tossed the bag over casually, and Bolin snagged it out of the air. “How was the party?” he said, opening the bag and mournfully breathing in the delicious yet heartbreaking smell of food he couldn’t eat.

“Boring,” Mako said. Bolin glanced at his face. There was that little curve of smile in the corner of his mouth that Mako always got when he was thinking about pleasant things. Basically the complete total opposite of boring, was what he meant.

“Were there pretty girls,” Bolin said eagerly. Pabu flowed over his shoulder and buried his snout in the bag of dumplings, making small chewing sounds. Bolin beamed at him. Wow Pabu was great.

Mako raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?” he said. “I’ve learnt the error of my ways. I’ve eyes for no one but Korra.”

Bolin made a deeply unimpressed face at him.

“… Yeah, lots,” Mako said, grinning. “Some friendly giggly ones too, which is totally your type, right? Bummer. But someone had to be stuck looking after our dear drug-addled Iroh.” He shrugged. “Think of it as it being a positive responsibility or something, whatever.”

That _was_ how Bolin thought of it, actually. It had been nice, like General Iroh trusted him enough to let Bolin see him when he wasn’t at his best. Like they were really friends. And nice to take care of someone else, for a change, everyone always seemed to think that he was the one that needed protecting. Take care of Bolin, Naga! Mako, keep your brother safe! Asami, why did you let him wear paisley! It had been really nice.

But, “Yeah, well,” Bolin said, grinning. “Next time there’s boring babysitting duty it’s your turn, bro, gonna hold you to that.”

Mako grimaced. “So long as it’s not Meelo,” he said, and left.

Bolin sat back and snuggled Pabu into his arms. Pabu wriggled a bit, found a comfortable position and went on eating. “You want me to introduce you two next time?” he asked. “I think you’d like him. He’s basically a storybook prince, you could be his loveable animal sidekick.”

Pabu blinked up at him and chirruped.

“Yeah,” Bolin sighed, scratching behind the ferret’s ears so he squeaked happily, “you’re probably right. Too good for the likes of us, buddy.” He sneaked one of the dumplings and crunched on it, chuckling as Pabu delivered a tailslap to his face as retribution. “But hey. A guy can dream.”

 

 

Weeks went by, during which Iroh spent entirely too much time loitering in the mess just so he could listen to the radio there. It was better-made than the one in his room. He was pretty sure he escaped detection, though, he always acted like he had legitimate business there, taking paperwork so he could deal with it while having a refreshing cup of ginseng tea. Most of the time, he did the paperwork like the good figurehead general he was, but sometimes – when there was a pro-bending match, say – the paperwork lay deserted, the tea went cold. He honestly did love the game, but more and more often these days that was secondary, an afterthought, means to an end; he just listened to the game to remind him of … things. Totally important and impressive things, like say the tension between benders and non-benders. Yes. That. Certainly it wasn’t all just to remind him of some peasant boy bender; that would be idiotic. Even if he was brave and clever and had the most amazing eyes Iroh had ever seen and was a constant positive influence on everyone around him and - _even so_. It was a silly, unimportant little crush, and he decided to ignore it. That was the sensible course of action.

He wished he could think of a decent excuse to visit Republic City. 

“Here you go, sir,” his aide said, bringing him a fresh cup of tea. He took it gratefully. She was the firebender who had answered his questions that very first night; he’d found her to be competent and clever and in all respects exactly what you’d want in an aide. “Good game tonight?”

Iroh glanced at the radio. This was one of the times when he’d honestly been paying attention to his work, and he had no idea what was going on in the match he was listening to. It wasn’t a Ferret match, anyway, so it didn’t really matter. “Probably?” he said. “Honestly, I need to get through this backlog of paperwork, it’s – hey, I was listening to that.”

He’d said it fairly amicably, he thought, so he was more than a little surprised when the crewman he’d been speaking to jerked back like he’d been slapped and then muttered an ashamed, “Yessir,” and twisted the dial back to the pro-bending station.

Iroh frowned at him. “It’s Lee, isn’t it? You’re allowed to argue, you know, when it’s little things like that. Here at least,” a gesture at the mess hall, full of tired soldiers, “we’re all equals.”

“Yessir,” Lee said, bobbing his head, but he scurried away like he’d been scolded.

Iroh blinked after him. “… What was that about?” he asked his aide.

“He’s an earthbender,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.

“I know that. What does that have to do with him being scared to death of me?”

She sighed. “He’s not scared,” she said. “He’s ashamed, embarrassed. A lot of the earthbenders and waterbenders are, because they couldn’t stop the mines.”

He stared at her. “What? That was months ago! They’ve felt like that this whole time?” Other people being burdened by a failure that was quite entirely _his_. It was a strange idea.

She just shrugged.

Iroh could feel the anger building, feel himself stretched tight with it like a string waiting to be plucked. He took a sip of tea. Breathed in. Breathed out. He could be terrifying when he lost his temper, he knew that. It ran in the family.

“Lee,” he ordered, his voice a harsh whip-crack of command, and the poor earthbender looked up, eyes huge. “Come here, please.”

Lee walked over and stood at attention. “Sir?” he asked.

He was stiff as a board, biting his lip – good lord, he was actually sweating. This was abominable. “Lee,” Iroh said, trying to gentle his tone. It wasn’t Lee he was angry at. “Tell me. What do you think of how my earthbenders and waterbenders handled the Attack of Republic City?”

Lee flinched. “I—” he said, low, “I have no right to speak of it, sir.”

Iroh made a curt gesture, beckoning him to speak. “Please.”

Lee bit his lip, and then blurted, “We let you down, sir. Sir, I am so so sorry, I swear we tried our hardest, just, there were so many and we’d never dealt with them before and they used strange metals and—” He snapped his mouth shut. “We let you down, sir. There’s no excuse for it.”

Just a figurehead for the crew to look up to, and he couldn’t even do that right – no, no, that line of thinking helped no one. “Lee,” Iroh said, and paused. “Would you like some tea?”

Lee shook his head. The question made him look more terrified, if anything.

“I order—” No, that was the wrong way. “I would take it as a personal favour,” he said, gently, “if you stopped thinking of the battle in those terms. All of you. You all behaved admirably, did your job under pressure. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Lee blinked at him, clearly disbelieving.

“Can you do that for me, Lee?”

“I – yes, of course, sir, I’d do anything to make it up to you!”

Ugh. “Thank you,” he said, giving up, and he nodded to show dismissal. Lee walked off, not even scurrying this time, just walking slow and sad like his failure weighed down on him and it was abominable, this, it was monstrously unfair, that anyone else should have to shoulder the weight that by all rights was his alone. The mess hall was far more hushed than it normally was; people had been listening. He scanned the faces of some of the earthbenders under his command, some of the waterbenders, even the normal soldiers; almost all of them looked uncomfortable, like they’d been listening and it had driven their own perceived failure home. _Dozens_ of them. This was just – argh, what could he even do about this? But he had to do _something_.

“Help,” he said to his aide, in an undertone.

She shrugged. “What can be done? You should take it as a compliment, their devotion to you.”

“Yes, I’m very flattered that people are tearing themselves apart on my account,” Iroh said, too loudly, and she winced. He winced too. Temper issues, ran in the family.

He had another sip of tea so he could say, by way of apology, “This really is excellent.”

“Thank you, sir.” She grinned. “I do my best.”

“If only making things better was as easy as making a good cup of tea,” he said, wistfully, and shook his head. “What I need is some way to prove to them that they’re _good_ , good people, good soldiers; some way to just – rid them of this stain that’s on them. If only it was that easy.” He sighed. “Failing for that I’d settle for boosting their morale somehow, that’d do well enough. Some way to cheer them up, to get people laughing again—” He stopped abruptly as something occurred to him, and his heart soared, entirely unbidden. No, it couldn’t possibly – he couldn’t possibly – that was far too simple a solution, there was no way it would work. He was just letting hope delude him.

He gave the idea due consideration, though, looked at it from all possible angles, and he wasn’t quite able to dismiss it. Hope’s claws clung to him far too sharply.

It wasn’t that bad an idea, really. Anything was better than nothing. At the end of the day, the fact remained that what his crew needed was to cheer up, for their loads to be lightened. They needed to learn to smile again. And at the end of the day, there was only one man he knew who could be trusted, always, with the good humour of others, with making them smile, lightening heavy hearts. A constant positive influence.

Iroh started to grin.

“Sir?” said his aide, looking alarmed.

“I,” he said, brightly, “know just the thing.”

 

 

 

The ferry docked at Air Temple Island, and Iroh climbed out and went in search of the young earthbender. Bolin wasn’t exactly hard to find; he’d rigged up what looked to be some kind of pro-bending practice court in one of the Temple’s stately courtyards, and was busy … well, practicing. Iroh followed the sound of solidly impacting stone discs, and found him that way.

It was a hot day. Bolin wasn’t wearing an overshirt or bulky jacket like normal, just a sleeveless white undershirt, stained with sweat from the exercise and tight enough that all his muscles were plainly visible. He had rather a lot of muscles.

So far Iroh was very pleased with his plan.

“Oh, hey Iroh!” Bolin said, seeing him. He grinned delightedly and waved. Iroh had to remind himself that Bolin smiled like that at _everyone_ , that was the whole reason he was here. “I mean, uh, Captain – oh, shoot. General Iroh. _General_ Iroh.”

Iroh nodded in greeting. He was starting to wish he hadn’t worn his full uniform, on a day like this; he probably looked a fool. Not that that mattered! Because that wasn’t why he was here. Nope. Not in the slightest. “Just Iroh is fine,” he said.

Bolin ran his hand through his hair, mussing it; strands fell and framed his face. “Korra’s not here, there’s this fancy luncheon or something, Tenzin said she should go.”

Iroh shook his head. He realised he was standing awkwardly, back ramrod-straight, hands rigid by his sides, like some damned wooden soldier or something, Bolin probably thought he looked – focus, Iroh, focus. He cleared his throat. “I’m not here for Korra.”

Bolin blinked. “Oh? Well, Tenzin’s there too, so – oh, unless you’re looking for Mako? Some shh-shh-secret firebending thing? He should be over—”

“Actually,” Iroh said, speaking over him. “I’m here looking for you.”

Bolin looked stunned. “Wha – _really_?” A grin started to spread across his face, disbelieving. “Why?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a favour.”

“Shoot,” Bolin said eagerly, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“Some of the earthbenders under my command are struggling with feeling motivated. I was hoping you could teach them a few tricks, freshen up the routine a little.” He smiled expectantly.

To his shock Bolin’s face fell, and the easy, welcoming grin vanished like it had never been there, leaving him looking closed-off, shuttered. It was a very strange expression to see on a face that was normally so open. “I told you,” he said moodily, and he stomped one foot hard on the ground, flinging out his fist to one side; a stone disc snapped into his makeshift net so hard the whole construction fell to the ground in a tangle of sticks and string. “I can’t metalbend! Okay?”

The net _behind_ him, mind. He hadn’t even been looking.

Iroh had to swallow once or twice before he could speak without squeaking. “I remember,” he said. “That’s not what this is about. I have plenty of metalbenders, actually, it’s considered a minimum level—”

Bolin _glared_ at him. Actually glared. It was thoroughly unnerving.

“—anyway,” Iroh hurried on, “I was thinking you’d offer a fresh new take on it. None of my crew have a pro-bending background. It’d be a good experience for them.”

Bolin’s face slowly unfrowned itself, listening to that. But he was shaking his head. “No, I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I’d hate to get in the way.”

“Get in the – Bolin, would I _invite_ you if I thought you’d get in the way?” Iroh snapped. “Use some common sense, man, you know me better than that.”

“Oh wow, you’re right, sorry,” Bolin said, looking immensely guilty. 

General Iroh second-of-that-name, youngest general in the last five hundred years, prince of the Fire Nation, shining beacon of hope to all. And, apparently, remarkably skilled at making the man he was falling for feel completely horrible.

Huzzah.

“I didn’t mean—” Iroh said, then gave up on that particular line of conversation. What was the point, he’d probably just snap at him again and make Bolin _cry_ or something. “I can understand your reservations. But I’d be delighted if you could see your way to helping me out. Honoured, in fact.” He attempted a smile. “I’d consider it a personal favour, Bolin.”

Bolin clasped his hands over his chest, eyes going wide as saucers. “Really?” he squeaked, in an awed sort of whisper. 

Now was as good a time as any to make his move, surely. “Absolutely,” Iroh promised. “And of course I wouldn’t dream of not returning the favour, it’s a matter of honour.” He spread out his arms in an ask-what-you-will sort of gesture, and smiled a smile sharp and charming. “Anything. Ask it and it’s yours.”

Bolin looked delighted, and then stumped. “Huh!” he said, scratching his chin. “Y’know, it’s weird, but I can’t actually think of anything?”

Iroh spread his arms wider, his smile becoming tinged with desperation. “Oh, come now. I’m a rather influential man. Surely you can think of _something_ you want from me!”

He met Bolin’s eyes squarely, trying to convey all the weight of meaning in his gaze. _A kiss_ , he was hoping Bolin would say, or something of that nature – anything at all, really. At this point he would settle for a bloody _picnic_.

Bolin met his gaze, looking confused. Then his eyes widened. A blush tinged his cheeks, and very good it looked on him, too. A wicked little grin started to play across his lips. Oh, praise the spirits, the boy knew a solicitation when he heard it. 

“Can you teach me to dance?” Bolin asked, bright and eager, still grinning like a fiend.

Iroh blinked, then smiled, something soft and warm filling his chest. A little more romantic than he’d been expecting, but – they could take this slowly, that was fine, he was more than alright with that. And dancing with Bolin would be a joyous thing. “Gladly! Might I ask,” he said, then nearly lost courage, because what if he was reading the situation entirely wrong – far too late to stop now, forge bravely onwards. “Might I ask why you want to?”

Bolin grinned and punched his fist against his open hand, cackling. “Asami’s having this ball in a few months,” he explained, bouncing, “for some complicated businessy reason, blah blah, anyway it’ll be all pretty and sparkles and champagne, and if you teach me to dance all proper-like I can actually show up, for once!” He came right up to Iroh, their faces inches apart. “Wouldn’t that be great?” he said eagerly, smiling so broadly his eyes crinkled up in the corners. “Everyone’ll be like ‘what are you doing here, Bolin!’ and I’ll be like, ha, I have a right, look at these smooth moves I …” He trailed off. “Wow, you look like you just bit into a lemon,” he said, studying Iroh’s face guilelessly. “Is something wrong?” He took a step back. “… Can’t you teach me? That’s … I mean, that’s okay, I could just follow my original plan for that night.” He grinned cheerfully. “Me and a bottle of sake have a hot date with the gutter.” He waved a hand in front of Iroh’s face. “Iroh? You still there, buddy?”

The soft warm feeling had quite entirely disappeared, by this point. Oh, well. Nice while it lasted.

“Ah – yes, sorry, I have a lot of business to attend to,” Iroh said, and Bolin’s smile started to shrink. He hastened to add, “Certainly I’ll teach you. Once you’ve helped my men, of course. Drop by any time tomorrow that suits you.” He bowed shortly. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.” And then he strode away, as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. He wasn’t sure he could handle a single moment more in the man’s company; him being out of reach was fine, fair enough, but that didn’t mean Iroh was capable of coping with the sight of him standing there _glistening_ , all smiley and half-naked and close enough to touch - 

Iroh walked faster.

For lack of anywhere else to go, he headed toward the nearest beach. This whole thing. … it stung, a little, but he should stop his awkward attempts at courtship now, most likely, before he just embarrassed himself. He _couldn’t_ press his suit any more urgently, not really; the power imbalance was just too huge. If he was too insistent there was a risk of Bolin agreeing with whatever he asked for just in some misguided attempt to please him. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his relationships ended up that way. What was he going to do, order Bolin to like him? Glare at him menacingly until they held hands? No.

If this was to have any chance at all of working out, it would have to be plainly and obviously Bolin’s choice, his decision. His move. And it … wasn’t what he chose. Iroh had offered himself very plainly, he couldn’t think of any possible way to be more blatant about his interest short of stripping naked and covering himself with Bolin’s favourite noodle sauce. Bolin just didn’t think of him that way. That was that.

Right, then. He could handle that. Bolin was a fine man and true; in other circumstances, if his feelings had been different, he’d be proud and honoured to be considered his friend. That would have to do. 

At least he had the dancing to look forward to.

He paused at the shore. The ferry wouldn’t be back for a good twenty minutes. He had time to farewell these stupid blasted _emotions_ properly, and then he could bury them deep.

Iroh cleared his throat self-consciously and clasped his hands behind his back in the traditional oratory pose. The wind stirred his hair. “My blood runs cold as ice,” he said, to the sky, to the waves, “even as these flames burn hot; for the hero of my heart looks upon my face and knows it not.”

“You like Love Amongst the Dragons?” a high voice piped up curiously, and Iroh screamed.

He paused for a moment to pretend very firmly that he hadn’t just done that before finally turning around. One of the airbender children was staring up at him, a girl of ten or twelve with dark hair and serious eyes. “Hello, small child,” he said uncertainly. He waved. Children were hard.

“Jinora,” she corrected.

“Jinora.” He bowed. “I’m General Iroh of the United Forces, and it is an honour to make your acquaintance.”

“I _know_ who you are,” she said, a little impatiently. If course she did. Tenzin probably lectured his children on important political figures over the evening rice. Jinora looked him up and down critically. “And that you like Bolin,” she added.

Iroh gave an awkward chuckle. “Aren’t you … precious! When you’re a grown-up you’ll understand that sometimes it’s not polite to make up—” 

“I was watching the entire time,” Jinora said.

Iroh sat down and half-covered his face with his hands. “Oh, spirits,” he said, through his fingers. “You saw all of that?” 

“Pretty much.”

Iroh groaned. Jinora patted his shoulder with one small hand in a 'there, there' sort of way.

“… On a scale of one to ten,” he asked, grinning self-consciously. “How pathetic was I?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Pretty pathetic,” she said apologetically, sitting down beside him. “I mean, I didn’t hear everything, but I got the gist.” She grinned. “I liked it when you were all—” She spread her arms. “Take me nooow!” She dropped her arms again. “It reminded me of merchants selling produce, you know, when they try desperately to make you want to buy it.”

“Such things should not come out of a child’s mouth,” Iroh said, a little appalled.

“You _asked_.”

“I wish I hadn’t.” Iroh sighed. “Please don’t tell Bolin? I wouldn’t disturb him with this for the world.”

Jinora frowned at him. “Bolin’s nice,” she said.

“I know that, do you think I don’t know that? That’s why it’d be terrible if he knew. Most likely he’d – feel _sorry_ for me, argh—”

Jinora waved a hand to silence him. “Bolin’s _nice_ ,” she said, stressing the word. “Almost always. To _everyone_. He thinks it’s his job to make people happy.”

Iroh almost snapped that, yes, obviously, but he restrained himself. “Your point?” 

“I think,” Jinora said matter-of-factly, “Bolin deserves to have someone trying to make him happy, too.”

Iroh snorted out a laugh. “I wish you luck trying to find him someone then,” he said, almost honestly. She stared at him, slow and patient, a you-are-too-stupid-to-exist sort of stare. “What?” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully and pointed at him. “Wha – no. I couldn’t make him happy.” Iroh rested his arms on his knees, loosely. Stared out at the sea. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d be delighted to try, but – I don’t think he even notices me, not really.”

“Oh, he definitely notices you,” Jinora said, and Iroh cheered up a little. This girl lived in the same place as Bolin did, surely she would know.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Definitely!” she said reassuringly. “You’re difficult to miss.” She waved a hand at him. “Your uniform’s so colourful!”

Iroh twitched. “Romantically,” he clarified. “He doesn’t notice me romantically.”

“Maybe it just hasn’t occurred to him,” Jinora suggested. “Or maybe he thinks you’d turn him down.”

“Or maybe,” Iroh said, sourly, “he’d be disgusted by the very idea of it and never speak to me again. I tried, small airbending child. It didn’t work.” He shrugged. “That’s that.”

She gave him an extremely sceptical look. “Mmhm,” she said. “You told him exactly how you felt, did you?”

Iroh ducked his head. “Uh,” he said.

“Laid out your soul to him? Stated in plain terms exactly how you felt about him?”

“Not … in as many words,” Iroh said. “No. I suppose not.”

She smiled at him encouragingly. “Before I scared you—” she said.

“Startled,” Iroh said.

Jinora smirked. “Of course,” she said. “Before I _startled_ you, you were reciting a line from Love Amongst the Dragons, yes?”

“It’s a perfectly good play,” Iroh said reflexively. “I’ve always felt that it doesn’t enjoy anywhere near the critical acclaim it deserves.”

“It’s a beautiful tale of tragic love,” Jinora agreed, her face going all dreamy. “The star-crossed—” She shook her head. “That’s beside the point. The thing is, you _meant_ it. That’s what you need. Tap into that.” She met his eyes frankly. “Bolin’s a simple guy. Don’t play games and dance around him without saying what you mean. Just ask!” She clapped her hands together. “Just go right up to him and tell him he’s the hero of your heart, and see what happens.” She looked up at him expectantly. “And you guys’ll be adorable together and everyone’ll be happier and he’ll stop talking at me when I’m trying to read. Works out for everyone!”

“Hm,” Iroh said, thinking about it. “You … do have a point.”

“Of course I do.”

“That’s it!” Iroh snapped his fingers together and leapt up, practically bouncing with excitement. “That’s _it_! Jinora, you’re a genius!”

“Well, yes.”

“I first fell for him because of the radio, in a way, from a distance; now I just need to make him do the same. I’ll try out for a role in one of those hack radio play versions of Love Amongst the Dragons! When he hears me speaking the most romantic lines in the history of theatre he’ll be sure to think of me in a different light!” He nodded, satisfied. “It’s _perfect_. It is the perfect plan.”

“Um,” Jinora said. “I think you’re kind of missing the—”

There was no time to waste. Iroh started jogging toward the ferry, his heart flying. The ferry would take him to the mainland, and the mainland would take him to radio, and radio? Radio would sweep Bolin right into his arms. “Thank you!” he called over his shoulder to Jinora, and then he started running in earnest.

The airbender girl stared after him.

“That,” she said eventually, in tones almost of wonder. “Is one _exceptionally_ stupid man.”


	3. Jitterbuggin' Brown Eyed Man

“So you’re seeing him again?” Mako asked.

“Yep!” said Bolin happily, sprawling out on the sunny steps. He’d liked doing earthbending with Iroh’s crew, but boy was he tired! A nice nap in the sun sounded great. “He’s teaching me how to dance next week, and he’ll give me more lessons whenever he’s in port.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.”

Mako’s voice was full of meaning. Bolin blinked at him. “Uh. Mako? You sound strangely ominous.”

Mako’s mouth made a thin line. He crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t think he’s good for you.”

“Of course he’s—” Bolin stopped and laughed. “You make it sound like we’re _dating_!”

Mako gave him a sideways look from under intensely lowered eyebrows, looking anything but pleased. “Aren’t you?”

“Me and Iroh? Why yes. Yes we are. Also, did you know Pabu’s taken up with Tenzin? It was quite the whirlwind romance.”

Mako gave a sharp, irritated snort. “Just - be careful. Don’t let him take advantage of you.”

Yeah, because that was real likely. Bolin chuckled. “I’m pretty sure he has a fire princess or something waiting for him back home, bro.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t take advantage of you.”

Up until then the conversation had been pretty hilarious, but that made Bolin sit up. He crossed his arms and levelled a glare at his brother. “Iroh wouldn’t two-time,” he said firmly. “He’s honourable and stuff. All, all tea and uniforms and flying around like a crazy person and ‘honour!’ and. Stuff. He wouldn’t do that.”

Mako gave a half-shrug. “People in positions of power often think it’s other people’s job to just give them whatever they want,” he said flatly. “You ask me, he has the look.”

“Well I guess you’d know!”

Mako’s head reeled back, his eyes widening a bit. Bolin’s did too. That – that had been really, really mean. “Oh, man,” he said, guilt sitting in his throat like a toadfish, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“’s okay,” Mako muttered, when plainly it really wasn’t. Fortunately at that moment there was a whoosh of air and Korra landed in a crouch right in front of them, straightening with a grin.

“Korra!” Bolin said gleefully. “I am really glad this conversation is over!” 

“Hey, guys!” she said, snapping her glider shut. He’d be happier about her learning airbending if it didn’t mean she could now ambush them really easily, it was actually kinda scary! Naga, never that far from her master, clambered out of the fountain beside them where she’d been soaking, a big panting pile of whiteness and wetness and teeth. Korra leaned against her fondly. “Bolin! How did the teaching thing go?”

“Great! I—”

“Now that you’re back,” she said brightly, shoving a massive brush into his hands, “you can help me groom Naga! We need to comb her out, she’s shedding her winter coat.”

He blinked at the brush. “Can’t you do that on your own?”

Korra grinned. “Naga doesn’t much like being groomed.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well. Great.”

Naga, as it turned out, _really_ didn’t like being groomed. Bolin tried earthbending her feet into place so she didn’t run away, but then she just shifted her weight from side to side, knocking both of them over a couple of times while Mako watched from the steps and laughed ironically. Eventually they figured out a way to do it, Korra distracting her with petting and praise while Bolin got to work with the grooming, brushing at her thick fur diligently. It came away in clumps and tatters, drifting onto the ground like snow; it was really thick and warm, she’d be a lot more comfortable without all this weight. 

The work was simple enough that his mind drifted, falling fairly easily onto the earlier part of the day. He grinned at the memory. He’d taken the earthbenders onto shore, showed them a few tricks, tried to remember all the stuff Lin said about feeeeling the groouuund. It was fun and everything, but he’d been a little worried; he kept on getting distracted by laughing and joking with the soldiers – they were all super great guys! – and that was cool and all, but it couldn’t be what Iroh wanted. Bolin hated to let him down.

But once he’d finished and cheerfully farewelled his new friends, when he turned to Iroh a little guiltily, about to apologise – he’d turned to him and Iroh had _smiled_ , just a little quirk of his lips but that was practically a full-fledged grin for him. And then? And _then_?

He had bowed low and clasped his hands together and said, “Thank you, sifu Bolin.”

 _Sifu. Bolin_. 

Sifu Bolin! 

Sifu!!

_Bolin!!!_

Bolin had just sort of stared and spluttered, because it made absolutely no sense. Sifu meant master, meant teacher, meant – wise person, meant a lot of things that Bolin really wasn’t. But Iroh had called him that, all the same, called him that like he meant it. His approval made Bolin feel all warm and fuzzy inside, because it was _Iroh_ , Iroh who was all proud and handsome and important and soldierly and basically everything Bolin had always wanted to be, growing up. And he’d bowed to Bolin, and called him sifu.

It was basically the coolest uh-oh where was Korra going why was Korra going didn’t she realise that if she didn’t distract Naga –

Naga’s head swung around to where he was still busy at her flank with the brush, and she grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dropped him neatly into the pool. He emerged spluttering and indignant, pondwater in his hair and polarbeardog saliva on his collar, not very pleased about either of these things. 

“Fiend,” he told her sternly. “I will have my revenge! I’m _sifu Bolin_ now.”

Naga panted at him happily, and then licked his face. He decided, graciously, to take that as just and right surrender.

He looked past her to the person truly at fault. Korra had rushed into the pavilion, from the looks of things. He glanced at Mako, who was still being all leany and laconic. It was basically his favourite pastime. “What’s up with her?”

“Ikki came to fetch her,” Mako said. “Something about Iroh being on the radio and his voice being made of ‘velvet and rainbows and kittens smiling’.” He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t see Ikki? She was pretty loud. Wow, whatever you were thinking about must’ve been – where are you going—”

Bolin was too busy sprinting to the pavilion to pay him any mind. “What!” he said eagerly once he got there, dripping all over the nice stonework.

“Shh,” Ikki said, putting her finger to her lips and glaring. “There is _theatrical productions_ afoot!”

Bolin glanced at Korra for aid. “Apparently our dear general has a thespian flair,” she said, waving at the radio. “Who knew?”

Wha?

Bolin sat down with them to listen, and blinked. Wow, that _was_ Iroh. Wait what was he saying, was that –

“ _Were matters otherwise_ ,” came Iroh’s voice over the radio, gravely and intent, “ _I would claim you for my own, my dearest mate; for my love for thee rivals nearly that of mine for our fair state._ ”

… Woah. That – wow.

“I was promised velvet and rainbows,” Bolin said loudly, “I am not impressed!” and Korra laughed and made a pebble bounce against his head, seeing as he was sitting too far away for her to swat him.

Iroh’s voice didn’t sound like _velvet and rainbows_ , it didn’t sound like anything except Iroh! He did have an awfully nice voice, though, Bolin had always thought so; not loud and strident like you’d expect a commander’s to be, but sort of soft and raspy, like he was murmuring right into your ear, speaking special words just to you. _Thank you, sifu Bolin …_

“ _Yet ever in the sunset of your eyes/ Do I find my dearest hope, and dearest hope’s demise_ ,” radio-Iroh was saying tenderly. Ikki gave a dreamy sigh. Bolin understood entirely.

The play Iroh was acting in – voicing in? What was that called? Was there even a word for that? – turned out to be some ancient Fire Nation classic called Love Amongst the Dragons that was, as it turned out, _long_. The radio station started playing it in the afternoon and sometimes at nights in the Evening Music Hour; it was over-dramatic and dreary and very poorly written and half the time it seemed like the characters were more in love with the greatness of the Fire Nation than each other. About the only possible appeal it had was those lines Iroh voiced, and even those were, were _stupidly_ romantic and dreamy and poetic. No real appeal at all.

Korra, Ikki, Jinora and Bolin listened to it religiously, gathering around the radio of a night and occasionally heaving contented sighs at particularly good lines. After a while Pema started coming too, not even having the decency to look guilty about it.

“I’m sure Tenzin wouldn’t mind,” she said cheerfully. “It’s not like it’s cheating. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to appreciate a handsome man every now and again? Or a handsome voice, in this case. There’s no harm in just listening.”

“Exactly!” Korra said. “Mako can’t be mad about a little thing like that.” Then she frowned. “Bolin, why are _you_ here?”

Er. Er er er. Um. Actually, why was he? “Are you kidding,” he said indignantly, “the girl that voices the princess? Wow, dreamy!” 

“Bolin, I’m pretty sure she’s in her fifties.”

“Her _voice_ isn’t in her fifties,” Bolin shot back.

After that they didn’t question him, thankfully, which was good because it meant more time for sitting listening to Iroh be dashing live on air – or recorded, probably, but that did not affect the level of dashingness even _slightly_.

Bolin didn’t think too hard about why he enjoyed it so much, because he was pretty sure he knew the answer already. Best just to swallow it back, and smile until it went away. That had worked with Korra, it’d work with Iroh too.

And until then – well. It was like Pema said. No harm in just listening!

 

 

… There was _so much harm_ in just listening.

Because Iroh’s voice worked its way right into him, it curled at the back of his mind and made itself comfortable there, kept him company when he was bored or lonely. He thought of Iroh at the weirdest times, and that – wasn’t really appropriate, at all. He really, really doubted Iroh would appreciate that. It was kind of … dishonest, thinking about a friend like _that_ without them knowing.

Well, so maybe he should tell him, then! Why not? They had their first dancing lesson today. What better time? Dancing was, like, _made_ of romance. “Maybe!” Bolin mused thoughtfully. He was lying back on his bed with the window open to try and tempt a breeze – you’d think they’d be easier to come by on Air Temple Island – lazy and comfortable, the radio droning, Pabu a friendly weight on his stomach. “Maybe I should just tell him and see what happens? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He’d just laugh at me.” He flailed his arms. “That’d be fine! His laugh’s really pretty. It’s like – sugary thunder, or something, what do you think?”

He looked at his ferret expectantly. Pabu was too busy being asleep to weigh in on important matters like nice men’s laughs, though, which was a shame.

“And the best that could happen …” He stopped. He couldn’t really fit his head around the enormity of the _best_ thing that could happen. “Well that would be neat,” he finished lamely. “So – yeah! You know what? I think I should tell him! Today! Yes?”

Pabu gave a snuffly little snore. 

“Yes,” Bolin agreed, and stretched a little, and grinned aimlessly up at the ceiling, hope fluttering in his stomach like hummingfly wings. “… Yes. I will!” He punched the air. “Yes!”

Just then the radio finally stopped being boring – it had been some guy reciting genealogies, that apparently counted as theatre? Weird! – and Iroh, or rather the character that Iroh was voicing, some prince guy, came back into the story’s focus. Bolin brightened, that familiar voice sweet as honey to his ears.

Except this time really not.

“ _Upon him I will visit famine and a fire_ ,” Iroh’s voice came, and there was nothing soft about his voice right now, it was pure thunder, all dark rolling menace, “ _Till all around him desolation rings/ And all the demons in the outer dark/ Look on amazed and recognise/ That vengeance is the business of a man_.”

“Or no,” Bolin squeaked, scrambling away so he sat as far away from the radio as possible. As added protection he tossed a pillow over it. “No works too. I am liking the sound of no!”

 

 

 

“Wow,” Bolin breathed, entering the massive dance hall room chamber thing – he didn’t know what these places were called, but. Wow. It was all sparkly and expansive and huge, of course, and there were chandeliers dripping off the ceiling like icicles, but more to the point, the floor was made entirely of stone, smooth marble. He spread his legs, planted his feet firmly on the ground, closed his eyes, _saw_ , like how earthbenders were supposed to see, feeling the ground. He hadn’t been able to get the hang of this very well yet, no matter how much he practiced, and he’d never be able to metalbend if he couldn’t figure it out – but this, this was a whole room all solid stone. He could see every inch of it. It was beautiful.

Or would be if it wasn’t so creepy. It was completely empty except for him and Iroh, and it wasn’t lit up enough, so when he was seeing it with just his eyes he could barely see it at all, the walls and corners all cloaked in spooky shadow. And the _echoes_ , oh man, if he was wearing shoes today every footstep would ring out throughout the entire vast silence of the place.

“Bolin,” Iroh said in greeting, and beckoned him over; he was standing about in the centre of the hall, beside a wooden cabinet thing, and of course he managed to not look completely out of place even though he totally was. Bolin went over to him, trying to make as little noise as he could.

Iroh was dressed more casually than he usually was, it was maybe the first time Bolin had seen him out of uniform. “I trust my venue meets with your approval?” he asked, smiling with one corner of his mouth – instead of just letting himself _smile_ like normal people Iroh had a variety of little half-smiles and smirks and almost-grins, Bolin had kind of made a game of trying to make him smile so he could see different ones. He definitely needed to smile more.

“Absolutely!” Bolin said, trying to sound eager. “It’s nothing at all like a huge dark scary echoing cave filled with hiding wolfbats.” Oops.

Iroh frowned. Dammit. “You don’t like it?”

“Uh.” Bolin scratched the back of his neck. “It’s … great!” He tried to grin. “Just, I feel a little out of place? Uncomfortable.”

“Oh,” Iroh said blankly. “I see.”

There was an awkward sort of pause.

“I mean, not that it’s not—” Bolin started to say, at the same time as Iroh said, “I thought the stone—”, and then they both stopped and sort of laughed awkwardly and drat, he really wasn’t doing his best work today, the Iroh Smile-O-Meter was depressingly low. 

“It’s just kinda grand, is all!” Bolin said, gesturing around the place. _And creepy, really really creepy_ , but he didn’t want to say that, Iroh had looked so disappointed that he didn’t like it. Though he’d probably been imagining that.

Iroh shrugged. “I thought grand was what you wanted,” he said, a little curtly. “If you prefer we could go somewhere else, but surely if you want to learn formal dancing you should acclimate yourself to formal surroundings as well?”

“I understood nearly all the words in that sentence,” Bolin said.

Iroh frowned at the floor. “If you’re uncomfortable with this,” he said, and he was speaking in his stiff formal I-am-an-important-general voice, argh, “I can find some other way to repay you. It’s not that important. Though I did rent out this place for the whole – it’s _not important_ , it’s fine. I can help you find a proper dancing teacher, if you like, one who knows what he’s doing.”

Wha – noooo, no no no no that wasn’t right at all, Iroh thought he was having second thoughts about the dancing? No! Nonono. Bolin sought desperately for some way to put him at ease. “Wait, so we have this whole place to ourselves?” he said, bouncing on his heels, “ _neat_ ,” and he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted as loudly as he could: “GO TEAM AVATAR!”, and his voice echoed all over the place and yeah the hall seemed a lot less creepy now.

Iroh had winced automatically at the noise. Bolin nudged him cheerfully. “C’mon, you try.”

Iroh grinned a little. Ha, that was nearly a two-and-a-half, that was more like it. “It seems improper,” he said.

Bolin did huge pleading Pabu-eyes at him. “Please?”

Iroh looked unsure for a second, and then abruptly determined. “Go Fire Ferrets,” he called, only slightly louder than his normal speaking tones, and then he crossed his arms smugly across his chest, looking pleased with himself.

“You are such a lawbreaker,” Bolin said. “Now hurry up, we’ve got dancing to do.” He paused. Dancing didn’t really work well without music. “Did you hire a band or something as well?” He grinned, so Iroh knew that was a joke.

Iroh plainly didn’t know that was a joke. “Was I supposed to?” he said, looking hunted, and he nodded at the wooden cabinet-y thing. “I just bought a phonograph, I thought that would be sufficient, I’m sor—”

“You _bought_ a _phonograph_?” Those could be expensive if you got the really good kind, and judging by the fact that on second look the phonograph was _gilded_ …

“Uh,” said Iroh, looking at it and then at Bolin. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“Just to teach me how to dance?”

Iroh looked unsure for a second. Then he said, “It’s a … present for my grandfather, I just thought we could make use of it,” and Bolin grinned, relieved. That would’ve been a bit silly.

“Right, okay. So. Dancing?”

“Dancing,” Iroh agreed, and grinned a grin that was completely off the _charts_. Bolin grinned back. Finally they were getting somewhere! And he’d learn fancy dancing like a pro, and be completely amazing and Iroh would be impressed and it’d be great.

Things did … not work out that way.

Half an hour later he slumped down onto the marble, finally admitting defeat. “Sorry,” he said, his voice small.

“The fault is mine,” Iroh said, spine straight as a steel bar, every inch of him expressing his irritation plainly, “it has to be. This – this is simple stuff, I don’t understand what’s taking so long. My approach …”

“What? It’s not your fault, you were great! All, like …” Carefully explaining what moves to make, what each of them meant, when to use them and when not to; then, when Bolin just _couldn’t_ make sense of his instructions, couldn’t turn those pretty words into proper movements, Iroh had come and positioned him, standing behind him with his breath warm on Bolin’s neck and Bolin definitely did not have any complaints about Iroh’s approach. “Teacherly,” he finished.

Iroh paced. “I don’t understand!” he fumed, a burst of fire slashing down from his fist to sizzle uselessly against the marble. Bolin probably shouldn’t be finding this little temper tantrum as adorable as he did. “This should be easy! I thought if we started you off on the court dances it’d be easier, they’re just progressions of the basic bending forms, but no.” He gritted his teeth.

Bolin blinked. “Progressions of the what now?”

“Basic bending forms,” Iroh said. “You know, the main series of movements and stances used in bending and taught early on so it’s second nature.” He waved a hand irritably. “Most Fire Nation court dances are based on them, dancing was frowned upon until relatively recently so they needed to make new – oh, none of that matters, the point is that it should be perfectly _simple_ for you to adapt them to this, I thought …” He sighed. “I should stop making excuses. I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

Iroh looked a little nonplussed. At least it put a momentary halt to his ranting. “Well, because you won’t be able to go to the Ball like you wanted to,” he said. “Though for the record, I’m sure no one would object to—”

“No, I mean. _Huh_? Basic bending forms? I don’t know any of those, I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

Iroh stopped pacing to stare at him, golden eyes wide. Bolin shifted self-consciously. “What?” Iroh said, sounding disbelieving. “You really never had any formal bending training?”

Bolin stood up so he could face him, feeling a little annoyed. “I grew up in … not-good places, in case you’ve forgotten,” he said. “Me and Mako taught ourselves.”

Iroh gave an undignified snort of a laugh. “You think I’m being _critical_? Bolin, I think that’s incredible. You’re incredible. You were never even properly taught and still you can move and fight the way you do?” He exhaled, shaking his head wonderingly. “Imagine if your talents had been properly directed, you’d be the equal of any—”

“I think my talents were directed just fine,” Bolin growled. It _hurt_ , Iroh talking like he was some … low-born peasant, and yes, he was, it hurt because he was, he was, he really really was. But normally he never felt that around Iroh, that inequality. Even if they _were_ as far apart as earth and sky.

Iroh blinked at him. “Quite so,” he said, colouring a little, “I’m sorry. In any case we’ll plainly need a different kind of teaching! How do you learn new moves, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Bolin shifted his weight, abashed of how confrontational he’d become. “Sometimes I make them up, whatever feels right at the time,” he said. “But mainly I just – watch people and, like. Copy them. Whatever.” 

“Right,” Iroh said, clapping his hands together and looking much more cheerful. “Watch me closely, then.”

That, Bolin could definitely do.

And Iroh moved … amazingly. Stepping from standing into dancing quick and easy, like it was second nature, and Bolin should have known he could dance from how well he could bend, really, but this was different, there was a world of difference between Iroh flaring flames in combat and Iroh moving like this just for the sake of it, just for the beauty: step and swing and bow, arms extended sometimes for a partner that wasn’t there. Just Iroh, dancing alone in the middle of the empty hall, heels clicking sharply against the floor so the whole hall was filled with the echo of him. Spin and weave and flow.

He glanced at Bolin and then added fire, arcing elegantly from his hands like he was dancing with golden ribbons; they emphasised his movements, flicking as he curled and swirled and ducked. Lighting up the dark. When he finished there was no grand climax - just smooth movements sliding easily, thoughtlessly into cessation.

Bolin clapped and cheered, and Iroh blushed, a little, spots of colour high on his cheekbones, and maybe – maybe –

Iroh cleared his throat, and maybe not. “See, they’re connected,” he said. He did the start of the dance again, the first few steps. “Can you manage that?”

Bolin jumped to his feet and launched himself into the dance, the steps Iroh had just done and then the ones that came immediately afterwards, because yes, he had very definitely been watching. When he got as far as he remembered he stopped, grinning at Iroh, and Iroh – Iroh was smiling, quiet and pleased. There was really no way life could ever get better than right now, this moment, Iroh smiling at him so proudly.

Iroh crossed over to the phonograph and set the needle. Music poured out, smooth and golden.

“I think,” he said, “you’re ready to try that with a partner.”

Yeah okay that was definitely better.

After that things were kind of a blur of dancing and music; Iroh’s hands at his waist, Iroh’s eyes like liquid gold, Iroh’s laugh when Bolin made him laugh which was _often_ , ha. Less often than usual, though, and Iroh noticed.

“Is something the matter?” he said, panting a little – this dance wasn’t a particularly strenuous one, but they’d been dancing for … wow, almost three hours. “You’re not quite your usual talkative self.”

Bolin stopped, glad for the rest, less glad for the question. “Uh.”

“Is there something on your mind?”

He was all gentle concern, and Bolin was completely incapable of resisting that. But he couldn’t exactly say, _I wish you talked about me the way you talk about bravely serving the Fire Nation_. “I just – it’s so restricting! Dancing should just be about moving with the music, y’know?”

Iroh tilted his head in an almost-nod. “That can work well enough,” he said. “Provided you know the rhythms and basic steps, and have a partner that’s quick on their feet.”

Bolin winked at him. “Good thing I do then!”

That raspy chuckle, yesssss. Bolin loved making him laugh. “Not right now,” Iroh said. “I think you’ve learned enough new things for today, but if you still want to try that next time I’m sure we can find time for it.”

Bolin latched onto one part of that sentence. “Next time?” he said eagerly. They’d made that plan, of course, but Iroh was _busy_ , it’d be fair enough if he didn’t have time to spare.

Iroh raised an eyebrow. “I’m good,” he said, “but even I couldn’t teach you in one day. Of course next time. I can’t be here all the time, but – whenever I’m in port, certainly. As we agreed.”

Bolin grinned. “Yes!” he crowed, and did a happy little dance, and then stopped and felt stupid.

Iroh just looked amused, though. “I’m glad you’re pleased?” he said.

“Why are you doing this?” Bolin asked.

Iroh stared at him. Bolin clapped his mouth over his hands, panicked. He had really really not intended to say that, oh man, just – what Mako had said had been on his mind all day and just argh why had he said that! _Idiot idiot idiot_ , he chided himself, frantically.

Iroh scratched his chin and looked to one side, and normally Bolin would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing him all awkward, but not this time. “Give me a moment,” he said, and he went over to the phonograph, fumbling out a new disc and setting it playing. The music was much slower this time, stately, almost mournful.

He held out his hand and raised an eyebrow in invitation.

“Uh. Just – you can just say it without musical accompaniment please,” Bolin said, he wasn’t at all sure he could manage dancing now. Breathing was difficult on its own. He’d just _asked_ , like an idiot, argh argh stupid. But. Wait. Iroh hadn’t just said ‘returning a favour’ and looked confused, he’d gone all flustered and strange and inclined to melodramatic gestures, apparently, and that – what if that -

“You ruin all my plans,” Iroh said – _fondly??_ \- and then he looked away. “This – have you been listening to Love Amongst the Dragons?” he said, all in a rush.

Bolin blinked at the subject change. “Yeah, ‘course, we all have,” he said, and grinned. “Actually, the first time you were on air we all just kind of rushed off in the middle of cleaning Naga, it was hilarious.”

“I … see?” said Iroh, looking confused.

“Mako had to finish grooming her, he complained a lot but afterwards I found them cuddling up together and he was just sorta scratching her ears and talking about how great Korra is.”

Iroh sighed. “Bolin. What did you think of it?”

“It was adorable! Mako’s soft side is always—” 

“The _play_.”

“Oh – oh. Right. The play. Yes.” Weird time to be looking for reassurance, but actor types were meant to be kind of eccentric, and Bolin was always willing to give Iroh praise. “Don’t worry, you were super scary! All princely and formidable, it was great.”

“Oh. Scary? … Oh. That’s – never mind. It’s not really what I wanted to ask, actually, I—” He stopped. “I have no idea how to say this,” he said frankly. 

Bolin made encouraging gestures. “Just spit it out,” he said.

“There’s a chance of that not turning out too well,” Iroh said. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes. He looked – tired, Iroh always looked tired when he was upset. Maybe he didn’t sleep enough, all busy being general-ish and important and amazing. “Look. You want to know why I’m doing this? It’s you, Bolin. You’re – I would do any amount of things for you.”

“Really?” It shouldn’t’ve been possible for his heart to beat this fast. How did his ribs manage not to break? 

“Really.” Iroh met his eyes squarely. “I …” he said, and then he looked away again. “I just - you’re clever and brave and talented and above all else you are kind. You’re the rock that Korra’s team is built on. Bolin, you’re – you’re incredible, and I just – I very much wish that you knew that, things would be better for everyone if you knew that.” 

Oh …

Iroh’s shoulders hunched a little. “You are so much better than you think you are,” he said, meeting Bolin’s gaze again, face drawn but eyes fierce with determination. Iroh squared his shoulders. “And I—”

“Hey it’s okay, I get it,” Bolin said, waving for him to stop. He wasn’t really sure he could hear any more of this.

Iroh did a startled double-take. “You do?” he said, hushed.

“Yeah. And it’s fine, I mean, I don’t _mind_ …” He did mind. He minded an awful lot, but it wasn’t like he could just say that, Iroh might ask why.

“You don’t mind,” Iroh repeated. “I see.”

He looked so incredibly tired. Bolin really hated seeing him like that, however hard this was to hear. “Really honestly, it’s fine!” he said, and he patted Iroh’s shoulder encouragingly. “It doesn’t matter that you’re just hanging out with me to make me feel better about stuff so I’m a better part of the Avatar’s team, honestly it doesn’t. I’m glad of the company anyway.”

He beamed at Iroh expectantly. Iroh stared back at him. The song on the phonograph ran out, the needle skipping over the grooves to make a weird repetitive clickety sound. 

“What,” Iroh said.

“I dunno, I didn’t know they did that either,” Bolin said, looking at it. “You should probably change it or something?”

“You are _completely impossible_ ,” Iroh ground out, and stomped over to the phonograph to stop the horrible noise. Bolin wondered what he was so annoyed about.

At least all the fierce snapping tension had drained out of him, though, and he was basically his normal self again after that, if a little quiet. They went over the basic forms one more time, and then were done. Iroh went back to the phonograph, easing the disc out, doing weird inexplicable technical things to the machine. He caught Bolin staring at it wonderingly. It was just so nice, all polished wood and gleaming metal and delicate contraptions. 

“You can keep it,” Iroh said, then back-pedalled hastily. “If, I mean, if you want. I bought it for you.”

Bolin blinked at him. “Isn’t it for your grandfather?”

“No – I, yes? No! Yes. I mean, he wouldn’t … mind?” Iroh said, and then he sighed. “I must seem a terrible fool.”

Bolin found it kinda sweet, actually, once he’d gotten over the initial sting. “Yeah, you kinda do,” he said fondly, and then when Iroh winced a little, “Wait no not like that! I mean, you being all awkward and eager-to-please—” Even if it _was_ just in some misguided attempt to make him more confident. “It’s nice to see another side of you! Like we’re really friends.”

“Of course we’re friends,” Iroh said, and he sounded so taken aback and so entirely sincere that Bolin found himself smiling. Okay, so at least part of this was real. Maybe even most of it was! Maybe _lots_ of it was real, maybe he really did enjoy Bolin’s company. Friends. That was definitely better than nothing. And who knew? Maybe one day …

“So,” Bolin said, bouncing. “We’ll do this again next time you’re in port?”

“It’s a date,” Iroh said, and really, the things that did to Bolin’s heart weren’t at all fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh oops, look like I forgot to mention - Iroh's 'RARGH RARGH REVEEENGE' speech is stolen directly from _Daeonica_ , a play in the world of Pat Rothfuss's Kingkiller Chronicle. Very excellent books, everyone read them. :3


	4. Green and Silver, Red and Gold

Air Temple Island was fairly familiar to Iroh, after all this time; he knew his way around. Bolin didn’t seem to be _anywhere_ , though.

“Iroh!” Korra called, waving at him, and he smiled and went over. 

“Avatar Korra,” he said politely, and she laughed and punched him in the shoulder, rather too hard.

“Just Korra. I’m pretty sure we’re close enough for that,” she said, and he half-nodded in agreement. He was glad of that. By this point it was almost tradition, the Avatar befriending the fire prince – and even besides that, he was glad to be her friend, just for the person she was. She was strong when she needed to be. “What brings you here?” she asked, and he brought his mind back to the present.

“I’m here looking for Bolin,” he said, trying not to betray his feelings too obviously – it was far too tempting to grin like an idiot every time he simply said Bolin’s name. “The Future of Future Industries Ball is tomorrow, I was thinking we should get a little final practice in. I’d hate for him to feel unprepared.” 

“I think he had the same thought,” she said, and smirked. “He’s on the mainland eating panic-noodles, you can probably find him there.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Ava – Korra.” He paused. It was early in the day, he had time to linger for conversation. “Are you looking forward to the Ball?”

“Am I ever!” she said, punching the air. “Asami said I could give a ‘ladylike bending demonstration’, it’ll be fantastic. I? Have been _so bored_. And it’s great for her, of course, getting Future Industries back on course despite – everything.” She smiled. “She’s been so brave.”

“Yes,” Iroh said simply. Essays could be written on the bravery of Asami Sato. “I must confess, I’m glad for pettier reasons, as well.” She gave him an inquiring look. “My Cabbage Corp radio doesn’t work anywhere near as well as my Future Industries one did,” he explained. “Sometimes it cuts out in the middle of a _match_ , do you have any idea how frustrating that is?”

She patted his shoulder comfortingly. “You think that’s bad? Try getting reception in the South Pole!”

He grinned. “I sincerely hope I never have to.” Something occurred to him. “Say. I know Mako will be your first dance, but might I be your second? It’s always good for the public to see us working together on good terms.”

Korra said, innocently, “Won’t you be too busy making out with Bolin?”

“Wha—” Iroh said, and choked on the question. “I, what, that’s – absurd! I would never, I, he’s …” She was giving him a knowing grin. He deflated. “You know about that?”

“I didn’t know about how you felt until just now,” she said, looking quietly triumphant. “But yeah, Bolin’s been pretty obvious. He talks about you constantly,” she added.

Iroh brightened. “Really?” She nodded. “… _Why_?”

“I’m pretty sure you can figure that out,” she said wryly. 

“No,” Iroh said. “I really can’t. He’s – frustrating, half the time he seems – I have no idea whether he even likes me,” he finished, pleadingly.

“The great General Iroh coming to me for relationship advice,” Korra said, with a happy sigh. “Dude. He likes you, trust me.”

“You’re sure?” Iroh frowned down at his hands. “If for instance I was to ask him to be my partner at that Ball we were discussing,” he said, slowly, “his answer would be …?”

“Provided his heart didn’t explode from sheer joy before he could say anything,” Korra said, “probably ‘yes’.” She shrugged. “But you don’t know till you ask.”

“Right.” Iroh stood up straighter, mentally steeling himself. “I shall ask, then.”

“Good on you! But first. To pay me back for all this awesome advice.” She grinned. “Wanna do a little fire-sparring? I am dying of boredom stuck on this island, and yeah, I can spar with Mako, but please teach me to fly please please pleeeeeease?”

Iroh smiled. Actually learning to fly would take months, of course, but he could certainly teach her the theories behind it, and it had been a while since his last good spar. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”

An hour later he was regretting the decision a little, trying to brush the singe marks out of his uniform. It had been enjoyable, though. Korra hollered, “Go get ‘em, champ!” after him, and he couldn’t help a self-conscious but hopeful smile as he nodded back.

He was distracted on his way back to the ferry, for obvious reasons, and he didn’t notice Mako until the firebender stepped right in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. Iroh stopped.

“Hello,” he said, a little warily. He liked Mako well enough – the boy was impressive, by all accounts – but there was something in his face that promised trouble. 

“Let’s cut the small talk,” Mako said flatly. “We both know what this is about.”

“I’m afraid I really don’t.” He looked over Mako’s shoulder. The ferry was near to departing. “Could you make it quick, whatever it is? I have business to attend to.”

“Yeah,” Mako said. “You’re _real_ busy dancing and reading plays. What a leader!”

“Do you have a problem with me?” Iroh said, fighting to keep a lid on his temper. In the family.

“You’re damn right I have a problem,” Mako said, jabbing him in the chest with one finger. “Stay. Away. From my brother.”

Iroh twitched with the effort not to punch him. “Ah,” he said instead. “So that’s what this is about. You disapprove of me courting Bolin?”

Mako’s mouth twisted. “ _Courting_ him,” he repeated, “yeah, real fancy. Look. Bolin might be charmed by you, but don’t go thinking I am. I know what kind of man you are, _your highness_.”

“My lineage is hardly a secret,” Iroh said. “I don’t see what bearing it has—”

Mako stepped forward, into his personal space, face intent “Bolin is just a kid,” he said. “Maybe your intentions are good, maybe they aren’t, but I’m not going to just stand by and let his heart get broken, not again. He’s my _brother_. I’m going to protect him. Understand?”

Iroh met his gaze levelly. “That’s good.”

Mako blinked. “What?”

“I’m glad Bolin has someone looking out for him,” Iroh said. “And I’ll be sorry if we can’t find some way to get along, I know your opinion means a lot to him. And he means a lot to me. So.” He shrugged. “I would like it if I had your approval. But your disapproval won’t stop me.”

“You don’t deserve him,” Mako said, fierce. “No one does.”

The ferry had already left, and Iroh had put this off long enough. He could catch the ferry in time if he just … “If you say so,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have an appointment with your brother, and I’d really rather not be late.”

Mako glared. “You—”

Anything else he might’ve said was whipped away by the wind as Iroh sprang into the air, fire at his fingertips. There were times when flying came in handy. He always had enjoyed a dramatic exit.

 

 

 

Iroh was proving more difficult to convince than Bolin had expected.

“No, but look,” Bolin argued, “it’s totally a good idea, we could both use to relax a little! I mean, particularly you of course - oh spirits why would I even say that let’s pretend I didn’t say that but still! Super great idea.”

Iroh continued to look sceptical. “You’ve been looking forward to this event for weeks,” he said. “I’d hate for you to be too tired to appreciate it all on my account.”

Bolin stared at him, then snorted. “I’m not suggesting we tour the sake houses or anything! Just, like, grab a meal, take in a little music. That’s all. Just a—” _Don’t say date don’t say date_. “Thing! Just a, y’know, friendly thing between friends.” Smooth recovery, Bolin. “… You did promise we could do some street dancing.”

“Oh,” Iroh said. “Well. True. That I did.”

“Besides,” Bolin said, waving nonchalantly, “you can teach me more eating manners and stuff, I know you get a kick out of that.”

“Absolutely,” Iroh said dryly. “My heart thrills at the very idea of correcting your chopstick grip.”

“I knew it!”

Which was how he ended up racing down the streets with Iroh in tow and Pabu draped comfortably over his shoulders, trying to find the elusive group of musicians they kept on almost-hearing in order to dance. 

He was at the market. With Iroh. _Holding his hand_. “So we don’t lose each other,” Bolin had said brightly, and Iroh had totally bought it, ha. This was the best.

Bolin stopped by a noodle stall to ‘replenish my strength!’ Iroh just looked amused. And didn’t instantly drop his hand! Ha! This was the _super best_! “Korra said you were most likely on a noodle spree before,” he said. “Haven’t you had enough?” Then he blanched. “I mean not that I object, I just--”

“Noodles are great,” Bolin said stoutly, but he bought a couple of food-skewers instead for variety’s sake. They were equally delicious, so it worked out. “Now I can demonstrate – oh hang on, hold Pabu for me? He’ll steal them otherwise.” He handed Pabu to Iroh, who didn’t seem entirely pleased to have a sudden armful of fire ferret. “Okay, now I can demonstrate my new flashness.” He closed his eyes and tilted his nose up haughtily. “What delightful fare thank you lord such-and-such.” He took a dainty bite and chewed, then dabbed at his lips with an imaginary napkin. “I shall now insult everything you hold dear in a snooty condescending voice! That dress sure is pretty if you like ugly things milady—”

Instead of the slightly self-conscious rasp of laughter he was expecting, he heard a protesting squeak. Upon opening his eyes he saw Pabu wriggling in an agitated sort of way, and Iroh looking guilty with a red scratch down one cheek.

“Oh wow, oh no,” Bolin said in distress, stretching out his arms, and Pabu squirmed free and jumped over to him. Bolin cuddled him close and made soothing clicking noises.

“I am so sorry,” Iroh said, and Bolin blinked at him. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I guess he just doesn’t like me.”

Nonono Iroh should never look that distressed because of him, never. “Don’t be stupid, he likes you fine,” Bolin said, which wasn’t entirely true. He could’ve sworn Pabu glared at him then. Sorry, buddy. “You were just holding him too tight. See?” He demonstrated with his own posture. “Leave him plenty of space to wriggle around in, that’s more comfortable. Wanna try?”

Iroh reeled back from the proffered ferret as though it was poisonous, and Bolin fought the slightly inappropriate urge to laugh. Iroh was just so – was adorable the wrong word to use for a big important general? Probably. But he _was_. “No, I’m quite alright thank you,” he said quickly. “Look over there, music, let’s go and – what are you … oh.”

Iroh stayed strangely still and quiet while Bolin dabbed carefully at his cut, cupping his hand beneath Iroh’s chin to steady him. 

“All done,” Bolin announced cheerfully, moving his hand away with mild regret, “you’ll survive,” and Iroh snorted.

“It’s hardly a war wound,” he said dryly, but he put his hand up to where Bolin had touched, fingers lingering there almost wonderingly. Bolin didn’t want to point that out; Iroh didn’t look like he realised he’d done it. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy, though, for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

“You’re staring at me,” Iroh said, a note of worry in his voice, and Bolin shook his head to clear it and grinned at him.

“Music, you said,” he said, and Iroh nodded and indicated the direction from which he’d heard it, and they wound their way over, weaving amongst the lamps and lanterns, the stalls and street-crowds. The musicians were playing at a corner, a motley little band but a cheerful one, and Iroh brightened when he saw them.

“My grandfather plays the tsungi horn!” he said. “He’s rather good. He tried to teach me, actually.”

“Really?” Bolin asked eagerly. “Are you great, I bet you’re great!”

Iroh chuckled. “Not really,” he said. “It was never my favoured instrument. I’ve always been more partial to the yuqin, personally.”

“Oh hey, look, they’ve got one of those too,” Bolin said, nodding at it. “I bet it’s a sign.”

“What – oh.” Iroh shifted. “You really want to dance here? There’s rather a lot of people, Bolin, and no one else is dancing.”

“See, that’s why we need to make them,” Bolin said, holding out his hand, and then, when Iroh still looked hesitant, “Come on! Dancing’s about moving with the music, remember? And the music is telling me to move!”

Iroh still said nothing. _Come on_ , Bolin willed. _Let me pretend just a little longer_.

“Well, if you’re sure I won’t embarrass you,” Iroh said, taking his hand. Bolin laughed at the very idea of that, and pulled him into the dance.

It was _absolutely amaz_ \- pretty okay. If. You liked that kind of thing. Yeah. Not like it was one of the best things he’d ever experienced, whirling with Iroh with the sounds and smells of the market all around them and the stars up above and everyone going about their business and Iroh smiling at him with a flush in his cheeks from the exercise; not like it was amazing, Iroh sharing his delight when other people finally joined in the dancing, everyone all swirl-stepped and rhythm-waving and the music quick and quirky, driving them – not like it was brainbendingly joyous that Iroh was dancing with him like this was _normal_ , like this was something they’d be able to do more than just this once. 

Totally not like that at all.

… Man, he had it bad.

“Enough, Bo,” Iroh said a few minutes and several blissful eternities later, laughing, “have mercy on an old man.”

Bolin spluttered at that, though he stopped and let Iroh guide him to a slightly less dancing-packed area of the market. “What. You’re, like, twenty.”

“Age strikes me hard,” Iroh said, seriously. “Age also demands you buy me mango juice.”

Oh, he was thirsty – oh, yeah, that made sense, he _had_ eaten rather too many fire flakes and wait. Waaait. He’d called him _Bo_. Only people really close to him ever called him that! Bolin paused for a moment to savour that, like a mouthful of sugar cane, like a warm coat on a cold day. “Well,” he said. “Anything you ask of me, naturally.” He gave a silly bow. “Await my return, gallant prince!”

Iroh blushed a little. From the dancing, probably. “You are entirely ridiculous,” he said. Then he paused. “I’ll look after Pabu for you,” he suggested.

Bolin blinked, but handed the ferret over willingly enough. Even when Pabu did huge pleading eyes at him. “Hush,” Bolin told him. “Learn to get along. You’re gonna need to.”

Then he went to buy mango juice. He would find the _very best mango juice there was_. Iroh deserved nothing less.

Fortunately there was a fresh-fruit stall not fifteen metres away, so he didn’t need to undergo an epic quest or anything. “One mango punch!” he said, and paused, because he was pretty thirsty too. “And lychee juice too,” he said, not without some regret. He wasn’t dirt-poor any more, but he still mourned the loss of every yuan. 

The old lady at the stall beamed at him as she handed over the items. “And a flower?” she said, offering him one, vivid red and gold. Bolin blinked at it. “For your sweetheart!”

Oh. Bolin blushed. “Um, he’s not,” he said, “I mean, we’re not …” He glanced over to where he’d left Iroh, nervously, as though Iroh could have somehow overheard the lady’s innocent assumption and would now be raging violently, but –

He had nothing to worry about on that front, because Iroh was intently focused on bribing Pabu with sweet bean paste buns.

Bolin grinned foolishly and handed over the extra coin. Worth it. Might as well pretend a little longer, because Iroh seemed to be pretending too.

“I’m glad you two are getting along,” he said when he got back to them. Iroh looked up from scratching Pabu’s chin to smile at him.

“I will admit it,” he said. “He’s sweet.” 

“Sweet?” Bolin puffed out his chest. “My Pabu is a marvel. Did you know he can walk upside down? Because he can walk upside down. That’s a thing he can do.”

“I know,” Iroh said, “I’ve seen one of your matches, remember?” He held out his arm. Pabu flowed down it and over to Bolin, who laughed and shifted to rearrange him. 

“Careful, buddy, I come bearing beverages.” He held out Iroh’s mango punch, and Iroh took it with a grateful nod. “… I always took you for a tea man,” he said curiously.

“Yes,” Iroh said, and took a sip and smiled. “It’s a little too warm right now, but – otherwise? Yes, almost always. There’s a story behind that, actually.”

Bolin took a glug of lychee juice. It was simply the quenchiest there was! “Pabu likes stories,” he offered. Pabu rubbed his head against his neck with his almost-silent purr, and Bolin smiled proudly. “He’s the most fantastic of fire ferrets, that’s why he’s so clever.”

Iroh’s mouth twitched into a grin. He was smiling so much more often now, too often for Bolin to seal away each smile into a special warm cosy place in his heart - but that was good, that was so good, the fact that Iroh smiled so often Bolin lost _count_. “I’m sure he is,” Iroh agreed, and met Bolin’s eyes. “Though there’s only one fire ferret I really care about.” 

Bolin grinned. “Ha, that’s funny because … I’m a …” He trailed off. “Oh. _Oh_. Okay.” Wow okay, that was – that was definitely a thing that had just been said. 

Bolin had absolutely no idea what was pretence any more, and what was real. Which was … ridiculous, really, because if there was one thing that he knew it was that Iroh was a _good actor_.

Still, Iroh was complimenting him so clumsily it was almost graceful, and he’d fed Pabu bean paste buns, he’d bought a phonograph. Surely that meant something. “Hey look a flower,” Bolin said, producing it and grinning weakly. “It matches your, um, self!”

Iroh looked surprised, and then pleased, so so pleased. He took the flower, turning it over in his hands, handling it as carefully as if it was a priceless treasure rather than just being – a flower, a perfectly normal flower, already wilting a little from the heat. “Thank you very much,” he said gravely, and tucked it into his buttonhole.

“Story?” said Bolin, for lack of anything else to say that didn’t heavily plagiarise Love Amongst the Dragons.

“Oh. It’s not terribly interesting, really.” Iroh sat on a bench, and Bolin sat beside him. “I got it from my great uncle, my namesake,” Iroh explained, and Bolin nodded seriously to show that he was listening and certainly wasn’t busy sinking into honey-gold eyes in the slightest nope nope. “He was always a tea man,” Iroh said, looking distant. “And a good man, by all accounts. When he died – I was too young to really understand what death _was_ , you understand, but all the same it hit me quite hard. I took to drinking tea in some kind of … attempt to honour his memory, or something, honestly I don’t remember my reasoning, but. Drank it every day religiously, until it went from being unpleasant … boiled leaf-juice, ha, to just being a steady part of my life.” He was silent for a moment. “… It was a way to remember him, I think. And I do, so. I suppose it worked?”

Bolin shifted. Sudden emotions! Okay. “Thank you,” he said. “For telling me, I mean. And … I’m sorry.”

Iroh just looked at him for a moment, still far away, and then he blinked and laughed a little. “Oh! Don’t be. He was very, very, _very_ old, and in any case he died happy, surrounded by all that he loved.” Iroh’s lips curved at the memory. “My grandfather and all of us, and, of course, a Pai Sho table and a pot of good tea.”

Bolin laughed. “He sounds like he was great.”

“He was,” Iroh agreed fondly, and then looked at him, considering. “He’d have liked you, I think.”

Bolin could not find a single thing to say. 

“Bolin,” Iroh said, and looked at his hands, and then cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I was hoping – that is. It would be my honour if … no. Um.” 

Bolin held out Pabu and wiggled him encouragingly. “Spit it out!” he said in his best Pabu-voice. “Nothing to be scared of!”

“In this case there rather is,” Iroh said, and looked away, and then back at him, and then away again. “Ah. You know the party that Asami’s hosting, the Future of the Future Industries Ball – of course you do, how could you not, um, anyway it would be my pleasure to escort, I mean, I … if you happened to be so inclined as to, um … ” He trailed off helplessly, then shrugged and looked at Bolin, smiling just a little, eyebrows creased. “Come with me?” he asked simply.

And that, surely, went far beyond pretence. Didn’t it? Bolin lowered his ferret, because Iroh was still looking at him as though there was actually a chance he’d say no. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a definite yes on my front, yes.”

A smile bloomed across the whole of Iroh’s face, one of his best yet, making his eyes all crinkly at the corners. Bolin couldn’t resist. “It would be my _honour_ ,” he said very seriously, and Iroh snorted a laugh and cuffed the back of his head, gently.

He really, really hoped this was real. 

 

 

Future Industries had been the largest and most powerful technology company in Republic City, which more or less meant in all of the world; when it fell it fell _hard_ , stocks plummeting as shareholders frantically tried to disassociate themselves from Hiroshi Sato’s fanatical Equalist ties. The company was all but bankrupt.

At least until Asami Sato stepped in, all class and cleverness and, as it turned out, a mind like a steel trap. After a few weeks in which she was entirely absent from the public eye, she emerged, took over her father’s old company and went about overturning it with a single-minded ferocity. There were people who rumoured that dedicating herself so wholeheartedly to the company was Miss Sato’s way to escape the pain of her broken heart; those people had plainly never seen her talking to the employees who depended on the company for their livelihoods, or seen her spending bits of her precious spare time with Avatar Korra – shopping or sparring or racing Satomobiles, both of them laughing in the exhilaration.

Asami was the kind of person whose heart could be broken two times in the space of a week, and still she would stay strong. 

And thus, she had brought the company back from the brink of death. And thus, tonight’s party, the Future of Future Industries Ball, a prime opportunity for business competitors and City Personalities to socialise and mingle and stare in awe at the sheer amount of money Asami could easily afford to spend.

So there were a number of important people to greet, a lot of polite discussion to be made. All of it vanished from Iroh’s head entirely the second he laid eyes on Bolin.

Bolin was standing by the buffet table and looking, oddly enough, perfectly at ease – though then again, he always had liked to revel in the strangeness of upper-class lifestyle. Asami’s poor _butler_.

More to the point he was looking gorgeous, dressed in green and silver and black; the clothes were tailored to fit, Iroh was willing to bet, they fit him so perfectly, emphasising his every line. He moved in the clothes like he was perfectly at ease, he was smiling and laughing and spirits, how was he so beautiful?

The older rich couple he was talking to didn’t seem to share Iroh’s opinion, though; they would’ve been edging away if that was at all polite. Iroh grinned and approached, bowing toward Bolin. “Forgive me,” he said to the couple, “might I steal him from you?” and they bowed back and escaped as quickly as propriety allowed.

“Good gracious,” Iroh said, watching them go with not a little amusement. “What did you do to those poor people?”

“What, me? Nothing!” Bolin grinned innocently. “I may’ve compared the buffet food to some street gruel I had once, but …”

“You are a terror.” Bolin beamed back like that was a compliment, and Iroh wanted to kiss him, suddenly – well, not suddenly, he’d wanted to for a while, but it hit him particularly strongly that moment, Bolin standing there sure and strong, Bolin standing in a world not his own and instead of quailing _laughing_ at it. “Ah – I like your clothes, very gentlemanly,” he said, instead, and Bolin beamed broader.

“Asami helped,” he said. “I visited her and she got some stuff together and we talked about—” He stopped talking, blushing red as a beet. “Uh, clothes,” he finished. “Clothes and definitely not you! Ha. Nope.”

Iroh couldn’t help teasing him, just a little. He felt safe enough with them for that. Bolin was here with him, wasn’t he? Well not – _exactly_ , they hadn’t been able to enter together, but. That was besides the point. They were here together. So he gestured at himself and smiled innocently. “How do I look?”

Bolin made a few gaping noises and then said, “Um,” a little helplessly. Iroh grinned. He generally rather disliked wearing full ceremonial clothes, because you couldn’t fight in them, but there was no denying they were magnificent. “Well putting your hair like that makes your face look really weird,” Bolin offered, and then he looked mortified. “No stupid why would I even say that argh—”

“It’s fine,” Iroh said, touching his top-knot a little self-consciously. “I don’t really have enough hair for this style to work, I know. I just wanted to wear this headpiece. It’s – well, traditionally the Crown Prince wears it, but my grandfather lent it to me, so I just …” He stopped. “Does it really make my face look weird?” 

“Your face looks pretty!” said Bolin, so earnestly that Iroh couldn’t help but blush a little. Blush, honestly. This boy would be the death of him. “I mean, all of you looks pretty. You look—” He sought for words, actually making little snatching motions at the air as though he could catch an elusive sentence. “You look like a prince.”

“I … _am_ a prince,” Iroh said slowly.

“I know, just … Not that you don’t normally look like one! Just. You look _especially_ like one. Today. Please can we dance so I stop talking.”

“I would not stop you talking for the world,” Iroh said, to see his smile. He held out his hand anyway, with a bow, and they walked to the dance floor hand-in-hand. People’s eyes settled on them as they danced, he could feel it; a few conversations were hushed, a few mouths dropped open in surprise. There mustn’t have been any rumours about their involvement, then, no snide gossip about the General’s association with a peasant boy – a very _famous_ peasant boy, by now, but base-born all the same, there was no changing that. But no, to judge by the amount of shocked stares, there hadn’t been any rumours, not one. There most certainly would be now. Iroh was glad. Let people gossip all they liked. Bolin was his and he was Bolin’s and he didn’t care a whit if all the world knew it.

.. Though Bolin might care, it occurred to him belatedly. He didn’t mind people gossiping about him, because he was used to it, he had to be – but Bolin didn’t have that background and experience, it’d all be new to him. Iroh was struck with doubt suddenly. Maybe he should’ve gone slower. Maybe they should’ve kept this – whatever _this_ was, if they even had a _this_ – a secret for just a little longer, for Bolin’s sake.

Bolin spun and dipped him like he was some swooning maiden and grinned into his face, smugly, and Iroh laughed and spun him too, next chance he got. They’d practiced enough by this point that they moved easily together, in sync, like warriors, like lovers. You can improvise even the court dances, provided you have partner that’s quick on his feet.

After three dances Iroh tugged him gently off the dance floor to let others take their turn, and then stopped, hesitant, still standing halfway between the dance floor and anywhere else. Bolin blinked at him.

“Something up?” he asked curiously. They were still holding hands, loosely, like it was instinct; Iroh had simply forgotten that he was meant to let go. “You want to go talk to Korra or something?” He brightened. “Or dance more?” He grinned at Iroh, warmth in his gaze, his smile, in every cadence of his voice, in every inch of him. As though there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be. No one he’d rather be with.

After all the misunderstandings and messes Iroh found it hard to believe this was really real, that he should be allowed so precious a thing; it reminded him of his very early firebending training, a little, holding a flame flickering on your hand for as long as you could, fragile and delicate. And if you did too much or too little it snuffed out. The sensation was the same, the warmth and the light and the wonder.

“Is something—” Bolin said, but he didn’t get any further, because Iroh kissed him.

He never had had the patience to keep a flame burning steady and slow. So much better to trust the fire to stay burning, to feed energy into it so it soared hot and bright. 

Bolin kissed him back.

Oh spirits, he’d kissed him right there in front of hundreds of people and _Bolin was kissing him back_ , soft and warm and hesitant and it was astonishing, it was a revelation. And then Bolin pulled back, blinking at him, eyes wide and dark.

“Hi,” Iroh said, and reached up to stroke his face just because he wanted to and apparently, he was allowed. Bolin leaned into the touch, but –

He was shaking, just a little. Iroh smoothed that persistent curl away from his forehead and frowned quizzically. Well, it was meant to be a frown. It was difficult to do anything except jump up and down ecstatically, to be honest; his blood was singing with adrenaline, like this was a battle or a pro-bending match, his heart was beating giddy-fast. He managed to hold back the urge to cover Bolin’s face with kisses, though, just for now, so he could ask, “Are you alright?”

“Just … give me a second,” Bolin said, ducking his head shyly, but there was the beginnings of a smile on his face. Okay. Alright. They were alright, he’d just been surprised. Fair enough. Iroh had been surprised as well.

They were alright.

… Maybe he’d imagined Bolin kissing him back. Maybe he was moving too fast or – maybe Bolin didn’t even want this, because the seconds were dragging on and Bolin. Wasn’t. Saying. _Anything_.

Iroh dropped his hand, and Bolin blinked at him, frowned. “Did I misread this entirely?” said Iroh, with a laugh that was meant to be rueful and came out hoarse with worry. “I am – I am so terribly sorry if that’s the case, but. I thought. I thought this was what you wanted?” It was meant to be a statement, but it came out a question, he couldn’t help it.

Bolin reeled back like he’d been struck. There was no smile on his face, no frown, no shyness; absolutely nothing, nothing at all. It was almost frightening, seeing that expressive face completely devoid of emotion. “What I … wanted.”

“Yes,” Iroh said, doubt growing stronger, heavy in his stomach like lead, weighing him down. “Was it not?

Bolin looked at him. “So you’re doing this because—” he started to say, and the mask cracked into what looked like anguish just for a moment, and then – then he _glared_ , the glare of a man who could stand his ground against everything you threw at him, and Iroh had known perfectly well that Bolin could be surprisingly fearsome when he wanted to be but that was not at all the same thing as having all that haughty rage directed right at _him_. “It wasn’t,” Bolin said, curt and cold, and that was all he said. 

“What – I, please,” said Iroh, not really paying attention to what he was saying, just knowing he had to say something, anything to stop Bolin _looking_ at him like that, like he was some despicable stranger; but Bolin was already turning and walking away from him, walking away, away, leaving Iroh standing there staring after him, rooted to the spot.

“Bo,” Iroh said, stupidly, and still he could not move. And then Bolin was gone. 

And still, _still_ Iroh just stood there, disbelieving, entirely unable to comprehend whatever it was that had just happened, while all around him the high and mighty of Republic City murmured and gossiped and laughed; just stood there blank and shocked until Korra put an arm around his shoulders, and dragged him away. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, once they were outside.

Korra gave a helpless shrug. She looked beautiful, he noted, distantly. 

“I thought,” Iroh said, and stopped. “Perhaps it was all vanity on my account, perhaps he never even …” He stopped again, unable to speak, the words choking in his throat. Surely not. Surely not …

“Hey, I don’t understand either,” Korra said, frowning. “Even if he doesn’t like you that way he definitely likes you as a friend, he wouldn’t hurt—”

“Wouldn’t break my heart in front of an audience?"

“Break your …” said Korra, eyes widening. “Oh.” Then she frowned, though. “Uh. You kissed him, though, first, I mean you started—”

“I know,” Iroh ground out. “Trust me! I know!” He paced, furious and miserable, trying to figure out what he’d done _wrong_. Had he moved too fast, too slow, had he said the wrong things, had he said too much, too little –

He always had burned the flame too hot. So easy to lose control of a fire, once you’d let it grow large.

“Just talk to him,” Korra said, “I’m sure you can figure out—”

“ _Talk_ to him?” Iroh said, stopping his pacing, and he flung back his head and roared fire into the sky. When he was done he lowered his head, panting raggedly, grinning like a mad thing. Korra was staring at him. “No. I am not going to talk to him. I am not going to let myself be any more embarrassed by – by _useless_ longing for someone that doesn’t even …” He stopped. “I will not,” he said, fierce, “this is it, I’m done.” The words were foul in his throat as acid but he said them, all the same: “I cut ties with him. No more. We’re _done_.”

And then he walked away, fast and quick into the night. As though this was something he could ever outrun. As though he could ever really want to.

Bolin’s smile when he was complimented, all disbelief and delight. Bolin’s arm around him, holding him firm, Bolin dancing, Bolin holding his hand, tugging him forward, making him laugh, giving him _flowers_ –

Bolin looking at him like a stranger. Bolin saying, _It wasn’t_ , all frost and ferocity, so disdainful, almost _disgusted_ -

Iroh hunched his shoulders, and walked faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END no not really


	5. think of me in the depths of your despair

They were having supper.

“BOLIN,” Ikki said, very loudly, and Bolin looked up.

“Huh?” he said.

“Bolin I asked you to pass me the soy sauce twice,” Ikki hissed. “And yet!” She waved at her plate. “Sauce-less! Sauce _lacking_.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He shoved over the jug absentmindedly. “I was thinking of … other stuff, sorry.”

“Wow,” Ikki chirped, pouring alarming amounts of sauce onto her noodles. “I didn’t mean to be mean!”

“What? That wasn’t mean.”

She blinked at him. “Really? That’s weird, you looked like you were about to cry just then.”

That brought the attention of all assembled at the table to them. “Ikki,” Tenzin said sternly. “Don’t be rude.”

“Whaaat?” she said indignantly.

“Bro,” Mako said, softly, not that that did much good because everyone was looking at him now and really, this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. “Hey. It’s okay. His ship left a week ago, he’s long gone.”

Bolin stared down at his plate. “Yeah,” he said. “Great.”

“What’s this?” Tenzin said, and then added hastily, “Not that I mean to pry. That would be rude. I wouldn’t.”

“Ohh, I get it,” Ikki said, “you’re upset about _Iroh_!” and both Korra and Jinora winced and made shushing motions at her with their hands, while Mako just gave her a murderous glare. Tenzin looked blank.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bolin said, trying to grin. “I mean, you can say his name, that’s okay! It’s not like I have any right to be upset, I mean – you’re right, he’s been gone a whole week, I should be fine. I am! I am fine. I am fine _city_. All is well in Bolinville.”

“General Iroh?” said Tenzin blankly. “What does he have to do with Bolin moping about like some heartbroken young thing?”

“Nothing,” Bolin said. “He doesn’t even like me.” Okay oops he’d maybe let too many feelings show in that last sentence. Weird how some, some stupid idiot well-intentioned perfect amazing prince had somehow made him hurt more than any pro-bending broken bones ever had.

“You’re too good for him,” Mako said flatly. Korra was looking confused.

“What?” she said. “What d’you mean he doesn’t like you? The man’s besotted!”

“He adores you,” Jinora agreed, tilting her head to frown at him. “I … thought that was obvious?”

“He did seem very much in love, from what I saw of him,” Pema chimed in softly.

Tenzin was the only one who didn’t say anything, but that was probably because he was too busy spitting his tea all over the table. “What,” he spluttered. “Bolin and _General Iroh_ , is that really …? Am I the only one who didn’t notice – ah. Well. Carry on then.”

“Relax, sir.” It was great they were trying to make him feel better, but really, they could’ve at least tried something more plausible. “They’re wrong, he doesn’t feel anything for me – I mean. Not like that. I mean yeah, we were kinda … stepping out, but he was just trying to, to make me a better member of the team, that’s all, he was trying to do what he thought I wanted.” Bolin stared intently down at his meal, because if he looked right into any of those concerned faces he wasn’t sure he could keep on speaking around the lump in his throat. “Because he’s a good man.” A very good man. Stupid of Bolin to think he deserved him, even for a second.

He swallowed and looked up. All the girls were staring at him. “Uh?” said Korra, not very articulately. “Wha? Is _that _why you stormed off, is that what you two – Bolin that, that doesn’t even _what___?”

Pema patted her hand. “Bolin, sweetie,” she said kindly. “What Korra is saying is that that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Huh?” Bolin said. “Yeah it does. He was trying to make me happy so I’d be more confident and …” He trailed off. “You’re all still staring at me, it’s weird.”

“You think,” Jinora said slowly. “That General Iroh was courting you as part of some complicated scheme to make you a better fighter or something? Um. No. Trust me. He just _likes_ you.”

“Like hell he does,” Mako snapped, sudden and savage, and he slammed his fist against the table hard enough for it to rock, everyone’s eyes snapping towards him. He’d been oddly silent during the earlier conversation, and now Bolin knew why; sometimes Mako’s temper just grew and grew, leaving him seething silently until his he finally burst. A bit like a kettle. “I doubt that pigslug’s even _capable_ of that! It’s good Bolin had the sense to say no to him. Spirits alone know what he would have done!”

“It’s not—” Bolin said, though he was tired of this particular discussion. He hadn’t talked about Iroh much this past week for this exact reason – as well as the heartache of course, the way it felt like swallowing a mouthful of broken glass just to say his name, but. Mainly this, the way Mako hissed and glared at every mention of him.

“Kissing you in front of _everyone_ like that?” Mako continued, lip curling. “So you’d have no choice but to go along with whatever he wanted, that was low, do you girls really think anyone would do that who had _feelings_ for—”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Bolin said, glowering, though some guilty part of him liked it, liked people dragging Iroh’s name into the mud like that, saying sharp spiteful things - stupid. And petty. It wasn’t Iroh’s fault. “Don’t you dare! I—”

A gust of wind rose up, stirring his clothes, making his hair stand on end. He squeaked at the suddenness of it. Across from him Mako was blinking, startled into silence.

Tenzin said calmly, “Even tempers only at my table, if you please.”

“Yessir,” Bolin said quickly. He glanced at Jinora and Korra. Between them that was quite a lot of savvy cleverness. “You … really don’t think Iroh was trying to …”

“No,” they said in chorus, looking exasperated.

Bolin’s heart fell. “What but … then … no. Okay, so it wasn’t some scheme, but … that’s worse.” He chewed his lip. That was so, so much worse, his tripes were twisting into knots at the very thought of it, tears were pricking at his eyes again. “That means he was just being _nice_. Being kind. He saw how I felt and he went along with it because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings and—”

Ikki said, looking frustrated, “No no noo! It’s ‘cos he wants to take you to _smoochtown_ , stupidhead!”

There was a pause.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Jinora said. “But yes.” She peered at him curiously. “And the way you talk about him—”

“No,” Mako said, low, then louder: “Stop it, all of you, this is cruel. Look at him! Don’t give him false hope like this, particularly not about lord high-and-mighty scumprince _Iroh_ of all people, he’s not—”

“Mako,” said Korra, meeting his eyes. “Iroh likes him. A lot.”

Mako stilled. Looked at her, searchingly. Then nodded.

And that drove it home, like nothing else had managed to, his brother nodding in acknowledgement – grudging acknowledgement, but all the same, he actually thought … they _all_ thought …

Iroh liked him.

… Iroh liked him.

Iroh _liked_ him!

“Yes!” Bolin crowed, leaping to his feet and punching the air and doing a delighted little dance, during the course of which he may have possibly upset his plate, just a little. “YESSSS HE LIKES ME HE LIKES ME oh uh, sorry sir—”

“No, no,” Tenzin said, “fair enough.”

“HE LIKES ME! Ha!” Bolin punched the air one last time then flopped down to the ground, beaming broadly. Something occurred to him. “… Wait, he’s … he’s a whole week away.” He felt the loss keenly, like a missing tooth, a gap where something important should be.

“Mm,” Korra said.

“And I just let him leave and – oh. Oh, man.” Now that he thought back on it … if Iroh had actually _meant_ that kiss … And. Iroh had kissed him and Bolin had just …

Oh no.

And he was a whole _week_ away and that was really impractical because all Bolin wanted in the world was just to hold him close and never ever ever ever let go. Well. And kiss him more. Kissing would be nice too.

“Hey, wake up,” Mako said irritably, and Bolin sat up straight and laughed self-consciously.

“Sorry. I was thinking about … stuff! Things.” He scratched the back of his neck. Then ventured, cautiously, “Iroh really—”

“Yes,” said everyone at the table except Mako, who just grunted. Really, everyone. Even _Tenzin_. Okay. It … must’ve been pretty obvious, then, but surely he would’ve seen? He’d hoped, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing at all, he’d known it was a faint hope.

“But,” Bolin said. He couldn’t just – “Why?” he said, a little plaintively.

“Um …” Korra said. “Iroh’s probably the one you want to ask that? I mean. Why do you like him?”

“He’s amazing,” Bolin said eagerly, and launched into the full list, which went for some minutes, listing all of Iroh’s blatantly obvious virtues and all the ones he’d noticed through keen observation – the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the warmth of his hands, his kindness to strangers, his honour and drive and dignity and indignities. He was bold and awkward and brilliant and so, so _good_. “… and hair black as a ravensquid,” he finished dreamily, “and eyes like—”

“Okay, okay, you can stop now,” Mako said, looking vaguely repelled. “Any time in the last ten minutes would’ve been fine, actually.”

Korra elbowed him. “See how you talk about him and can’t help but smile, and just, how you think everything about him is great?” she said. “He’s like that with you.” She smirked. “To the exclusion of all else. Honestly. Try to get the man to talk about good Agni Kai strategies and he’ll drift off halfway to talk about your jokes and how you …” Her slight smile vanished. “I mean, except when he left. Then he was kind of … um. Well. Not … not at his best. Like, at _all_.”

Bolin grimaced. “I really need to talk to him, don’t I.”

“Yeah, ya think?”

Bolin nodded, determined. “Okay! I don’t know how, but. I’ll find a way.”

“Not that anyone cares, but just for the record, I’m not happy about this,” Mako said. “He’s nowhere near good enough—”

Bolin grinned at him cheerfully. “I like him a lot,” he said. “Super a lot.”

Mako heaved a weary sigh, then, grudgingly, punched his shoulder. That meant approval, basically, so Bolin hugged him and whirled them around yelling about how he was the BEST BROTHER EVER until he got Mako to grin.

So that was good. But he still needed some way to, to bring Iroh _back_ , if he could, some way to apologise for how horribly he’d acted and maybe try to explain – though wow, that’d be really awkward, maybe he should just _no_. No leaving important things unsaid. That was how he’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

Right. So. He needed some way to talk to Iroh, preferably some way that’d help speed Iroh on the way to forgiveness so they could make up and kiss and go dancing and Iroh would smile at him again. Something that had some significance to -

Oh.

Ooooooh.

Bolin started to grin, because yeah. Yeah, that’d do _nicely_. 

 

 

At least _one_ good thing had come out of all this; his crew weren’t terrified by the very sight of him any more. It was hard to be petrified of a commanding officer when you’d seen him weeping quietly into his jasmine tea. That could’ve made his crew scornful of him – should’ve, really – but somehow it just brought them all closer, fiercely loyal but friendly as well. Perhaps they’d just needed to see that he was human. 

So Iroh continued his habit of spending time in the mess, to be friendly; cold metal and dim lights and tired people gathered together to make the most of their relaxation time. The pro-bending season was over, thank the spirits, he could do without that particular reminder - but there was still music to listen to, still that friendly companionable gathering of people that kept him sane. It was a fair sight better than spending all his time sulking alone in his room, which is what he’d done the first few days.

Someone patted his shoulder hesitantly, and Iroh blinked at him then smiled, because it was Lee, Lee who’d trembled and tormented himself about letting Iroh down. “Good work calming those settlers,” Iroh said, and Lee beamed at him.

“Your plan was genius, sir. It’s an honour to serve under you!”

“Thank you,” Iroh said, covering a yawn with his hand.

Lee frowned worriedly. “Are you sleeping alright?”

Iroh really, really wasn’t. “ _Thank_ you,” he said dryly, because that was a little too personal, really, and Lee chuckled guiltily and gave him a friendly salute as he wandered off, joining the handful of people that were dancing to the swing song on the radio. 

Iroh smiled, watching them. He had a hardworking and happy crew; a while ago that had been all he wanted in the world, but –

He scrubbed at his eyes fiercely and took a gulp of scalding hot coffee. Normally, of course, he had far too much composure and control to _ever_ cry, let alone in front of other people, but right now his eyes always seemed on the point of watering, his emotions always swung too close to the surface. The nightmares had – done what nightmares do, so he’d taken to not sleeping, which … as solutions go was rather a problematic one, but it was better than nothing. He couldn’t take it any more, waking up terrified and helpless and so completely alone and –

He sipped more coffee, and focused on the music. Coffee was a marvellous drink. It’d never have the same place as tea in his heart, but for keeping you awake five or six nights in a row it couldn’t be beaten. He was worn to a ravelling and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he was far more emotional than he ought to be, but he was awake.

He became aware the room had fallen silent, except for the radio. He blinked his eyes open and started to pay attention. “— _one heck of an opening to the first pro-bending match of the season, folks! The Fire Ferrets are definitely proving their worth tonight, aaaand looks like they’re knocking the Lizardbirds back already--_ ”

Wonderful. 

Iroh gritted his teeth and stood up to leave. His crew were all looking at him sympathetically, those that weren’t wincing at the radio. Looking at him knowingly, and when, exactly, had he become the kind of man that displayed his broken heart for all the world to see?

He made his way to the door, passing by silent crewmembers. Though one, less savvy than the rest, said excitedly, “What a _start_!” before he was hurriedly hushed by the rest. 

Iroh paused reflexively. He couldn’t help it. Regardless of his current personal feelings, walking out in the middle of the first pro-bending game of the season went as deeply against his grain as kicking babies or declaring himself grand overlord.

“ _—into Zone 2, I repeat, all three of the Lizardbirds are firmly in Zone 2 and – wowee, Bolin’s unstoppable tonight, the Lizardbird captain is iiiin the driiiink and the others will soon follow if that boy’s got anything to say about it, wow, look at that bending Bolin Bolin! Bolin Bolin Bolin, more stuff about Bolin, blah blah Bolin blah—_ ”

Iroh winced. Yeah, this had been a bad idea, why had he thought this a good idea? He went on walking, only to be stopped by a hand at his arm. It was his aide. He tilted his head at her.

“Wait,” she said thoughtfully, looking toward the radio, and he narrowed his eyes, but that was the point of a good trusty subordinate, to question you occasionally, to keep you steady on your path. He listened.

“— _and that is aaalll threeee Lizardbirds in the drink! First round knockout for the Fire Ferrets, I repeat, first round knockout, and it’s all thanks to the uncharacteristically aggressive playing of Ferret earthbender Bolin—_ ”

Iroh stood frozen, swamped with sudden memories, blurry with drugs and distance but warm as his memories of home; Bolin’s arm around him holding him steady, keeping him safe as he helped him back to his ship that night, Bolin’s smile, so fond – _I’d love to see a first round knockout_ , Iroh had said. He’d mentioned it in passing one night months ago, how had Bolin even remembered –

No. Stupid. _Stupid_ , stop it, he’d gotten his hopes dashed once already, wasn’t that enough? This didn’t have anything to do with him, he was a fool if he thought for a second that it did.

“Uh, sir,” his aide said.

“Hm?” He shook his head to clear it. Damn nightmares fogging his thinking with sleeplessness. The announcer was still talking.

“ _—and this is highly irregular, folks, highly irregular, Bolin has launched himself into the air and seems to be headed directly for – yes, folks, Bolin has landed here next to me, I’m fairly sure this breaks several guidelines but the refs are staying – young man I really don’t think that’s – what’s that? It’s for who? Oh, he has a message, folks, I suppose considering he did just pull one of the best manoeuvres of—_ ” and then there was a staticky crackle, as of the microphone being manhandled. The next voice that spoke was instantly recognisable, even over radio, even a hundred miles away.

“ _Uh, this is a message for General Iroh of the United Forces!_ ” Bolin said, and Iroh turned his head to stare incredulously in the radio’s direction while his crew none-too-subtly turned their heads to stare at him. “ _And don’t pretend you’re not listening, I know you wouldn’t miss – well, not that you can actually reply, I just – um. Right. Iroh, look, I really need to talk to you, and I can’t over this, so I’ll just – no stop that, Mister Shinobi, I um oops. He’ll be okay! I’m sure he’ll be okay. Uh, where was I?_ ”

Iroh twitched.

“ _I’ll just say the important things_ ,” came Bolin’s voice, suddenly serious. Did he even realise how utterly mortifying this was? Probably not. It was Bolin, he probably thought that it was romantic and endearing and spirits help him, somehow it was. “ _Iroh, I’m really sorry. I am really truly sorry. And I lo – I like you really a lot, so I mean, if you still have feelings for me, maybe next time you’re in Republic City we can … talk? About. Things?_ ” The seriousness was mixed with eagerness, then. “ _Maybe grab some noodles! What do you think?_ ”

Iroh stared at the radio. He couldn’t think of anything at all to say. Not that it mattered, of course, there was no way Bolin could hear him, but – radio had always had that knack of making it seem like the people talking were right next to you, and Iroh could imagine him standing there, holding off the announcer, microphone in hand, grinning; all crumpled from pro-bending, eagerly exultant and terrified all at once. Brash, idiotic, _beautiful_ boy.

“ _So yeah. I’ll wait for you, for as long as you want. It’s a date, hot stuff! Oh man why would I even say that—_ ”and then there was the crackle of the microphone being wrestled back, and the announcer gabbling something, and then a musical break, smooth bland music that went some way towards filling the otherwise rather awkward silence.

Iroh stood there blankly.

His aide cleared her throat in a meaningful fashion, and he glanced at her, and then at all of them, staring at him almost … expectantly. Grins threatening to break across a few faces.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t actually said yes yet, had he.

“I,” he said, and then he had to clear his throat, because his voice came out all weird and squeaky. “… I like that man's confidence. Set a course back to Republic City, if you please—” and he couldn’t say any more, because the entire room erupted in cheering, his crew united whooping in delight for him, crowding him close for congratulatory hugs and pats on the back and to shake his hand and tell him very earnestly about how good it was to see him smiling again, and other things that he lost in the sheer joy and noise of the moment, and it was … not very proper, really. Not proper in the least.

He’d allow it, he decided. Just this once. 

They had an impromptu party, and Iroh drank entirely too much sake and may or may not have been persuaded to sing, and his ship turned and started on its way back to Republic City. Bolin was waiting for him, and he didn't plan to be late.


	6. Epilogue: Later

Iroh padded outside on silent feet. His new quarters had a sort of balcony, metal jutting out over the sea – a bit precarious, but when the seas were calm it was a good place to sit and think. There was a full moon tonight.

He sat down, legs swinging over the gap. Breathed in. Breathed out. Shivered and smiled as the wind cut through him.

Oh – “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. 

Bolin sat down beside him. “Was it the nightmares again,” he said. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but he was probably glowering. Like bad memories were a thing he could punch in the stomach until they cried uncle.

“Don’t trouble yourself on my account, dear heart,” Iroh said, kissing his hand absently. “I assure you I’m well.”

Bolin leaned against him, and Iroh wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nuzzling his hair. He liked Bolin-smell. He somehow managed to smell like good clean earth and growing things basically all the time, it was marvellous.

“Waking up in the middle of the night isn’t _well_ ,” Bolin grumbled.

Iroh smiled. “Well enough, then,” he said. “Better than I’ve been in a long while. Honestly, I’m as good as I’ll ever be, you shouldn’t let it worry you.” He paused. “Have I mentioned today that you’re amazing and fantastic and I adore you?”

“Several times, yeah.”

“I wouldn’t want you to forget.”

Bolin chuckled. “I think I’m safe!” he said, and squeezed Iroh tighter. “You, though – seriously. You’re shivering. It was a bad one?”

“Most of them are bad ones,” Iroh said dryly. “They’re not called night terrors because they’re _fun_ , Bo.”

“Mmm. Mm hm. Yeah.” Bolin nodded. “Hey, wanna see a metalbending trick I learned today?”

“I would like that very much.”

“Right.” Bolin shifted away a little so he could press his feet firmly against the metal they were sitting on. Laid his hands flat on it, too. “Okay, so I sorta have to concentrate, and then picture the eeeeaaaarth in the metaaaal! And then I just sorta bend—” 

He made a sharp movement, and they fell into the ocean.

“What,” Iroh spluttered, once he’d got his head above surface. He treaded water irritably. “That was – very far from being your most shining moment, I’m afraid.” Bolin didn’t say anything. Iroh looked at him, suddenly suspicious. “Wait. Did you do that on purpose?”

“It’s all part of my excellent plan,” Bolin said, far too cheerfully. Iroh paused a moment to appreciate how he looked with his hair wet and plastered to his forehead. 

“How is us getting drenched a good plan?” Iroh said wearily. Bolin’s mind worked in strange ways sometimes; he thought all in straight lines.

“Well, it got your mind off the nightmares, didn’t it?” Bolin paddled over to him and wrapped an arm around him, which Iroh suffered with a mere ‘hrmph’ to show his discontent. Bolin said, “Hang on,” and put his hand to the hull of the ship looming beside them, and metal crunched and twisted and they were sitting on the balcony again, all as it had been.

Iroh glared at him.

Bolin tilted his head, then said, “Right!” and smoothed out the creases and corrugations his little stunt had made, then looked at Iroh brightly as if waiting for approval.

“I still think it was a stupid plan,” Iroh said.

“Oh – that wasn’t the plan, that was just, like, stage one!” Bolin beamed.

Iroh experienced a sinking sensation. Spirits, there was more? “We’re soaked,” he said. “I merely mention, you understand.”

“Right, yeah.” Bolin nodded seriously. “We are super drenched and it’s very unhealthy. You’d better heat a bath for us.” He paused. “To take,” he clarified. “Together. At once. Y’know, both of us—”

Iroh snorted. “I get the idea,” he said, and Bolin looked at him, a little anxious. Iroh bumped their foreheads together; kissed him on the mouth, then the nose, the forehead. “You,” he said, "are entirely ridiculous.”

“It’s a great plan,” Bolin said, complacently. “Best plan ever, don’t deny it.”

“I’m … willing to admit it has certain merits,” Iroh allowed, and Bolin grinned at him. “But – Bolin. You don’t need to go to such lengths to cheer me, you know. You help immeasurably just by being here, by being you.”

Bolin was silent for a second. “I don’t like seeing you sad,” he said, quiet. “That’s all.”

Iroh kissed him again. “Hero of my heart,” he murmured.

“You are such a dork,” Bolin said fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Iroh goes to tell his grandfather about Bolin, Zuko just waves that aside impatiently and starts talking about the good and bad points of how Iroh played his role in Love Amongst the Dragons and then they just talk theatre for three straight hours


End file.
